


We All Fall (Down)

by muses_circle



Series: We All Fall series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brooding, Exorcism, F/M, Foul Language, Gen, Hoodoo, Non-Canon Relationship, Post-Episode: s03e01 The Magnificent Seven, Pre-Episode: s03e02 The Kids Are Alright, Romance, Season/Series 03, Sex, Violence, mentions of death and dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muses_circle/pseuds/muses_circle
Summary: Something's killing people along the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Sam wants to investigate, but has no idea how to get Dean off the path of pleasure-hunting. A run-in with an amateur monster hunter convinces the Winchesters that to protect her, they have to solve the murders first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after the season 3 opener "The Magnificent Seven" (3x01) and before "The Kids are Alright" (3x02). I only own the girl, and all her character flaws.

 

__

_Ring around the rosie,_  
_Pockets full of posies,_  
_Ashes, Ashes_  
_We all fall down._

The rain pounded the ground around the Tullis-Toledano Manor, or what was left of it. The damage from Hurricane Katrina had been complete, the original estate destroyed by the wind and the water. Construction had been underway over the last year, and slowly the house was taking on its original shape – though the historical value would never be replaced.But construction was at a standstill for two reasons: the sudden yet typical, early summertime downpour and the resulting darkness. It looked like the blackest of nights, though it was only 7PM. So for the lack of anything else to do, the construction manager, Bob White, had called it a day: he told his crew to pack it in and leave. And that they were, as quickly as possible. The thunder crackled overhead and caused the workers who were left to cover up sensitive equipment and keep the electrical supplies – industrial chainsaws and power tools -- dry. That was a must, especially since the owners wanted to reopen their doors in the next six months.

“God, if I see any more rain, I’m gonna start killing things,” Ben Rough, one of the supervisors, declared with a guttural curse as he slicked the wet hair from his forehead.

“Tell me about it,” Bob Silver said without looking at Ben. He was a fat, balding man who huffed as he worked. When he saw how everyone else had packed it in and left quickly, part of him cursed being so fat. He moved slowly as he felt the thunder practically shake the ground. Privately, he thought about how the rain was a sign that they should not rebuild this house. He’d heard stories of how the place was haunted by the ghost of one of its owners, how the banging and clanging often went on in the middle of the night. While the spirit never seemed malevolent, it was enough to give most people a good scare. He thought of all this as he hurriedly tied up extension cords and tossed them in a pile under one of the larger canopies.

More disturbing was the fact that two people had been murdered lately, in two different locations where Pierson Construction – the company he worked for – had been contracted to rebuild. Bob noted Ben’s angry movements and allowed himself to ponder the possibility that some co-worker was behind the killings. It had been on his mind all day, so he hurried to finish his task and hurry home to safety.

“I mean, how the hell are we supposed to get this fuckin’ job finished when the rain won’t stop?” Ben continued with a snarl. “With everything that’s gone wrong lately, I am surprised Mr. Mayer hasn't just called it a day and fired everyone!”

“What do you mean?” Bob turned to look at Ben, whose shoulders were tense with anger. The guy had been angry lately, especially in the last day. Everything irritated him, and for a typically laid back guy, that usually meant one thing. Something was wrong. Yelling and growling at his crew was not his usual demeanor.

“If you ask me,” Ben said, his back still turned and his hands working furiously on a piece of rope, “someone or something doesn’t want to see this house re-built.” His words were biting and sharp, filled with hatred and condescension.

“Why would someone care whether this thing went back into business or not? ‘S not like the city makes a lot of money from it.” Although he’d just been thinking the same thing, Bob shivered. It was one thing to think like that. Another to say it out loud.

Walking over to the canopy where Ben stood, Bob watched as the lanky, taller man turned around and gripped a thick piece of rope used to tie up the extension cords. Bob was startled to see the rope shaped in the form of a noose.

Ben smiled wickedly, and Bob shuddered in terror at the evil he saw in his boss’s features. “You’d be surprised by what people want,” he replied ominously. “At least, that’s what they’re going to wonder when they find you hanging from the front porch.”

Bob felt cold suddenly; a strange presence passed around him, through him, and made him shiver with intense fear. He felt the prickles of danger crawl along his skin as he stared at the noose. “What?” His startled look only seemed to amuse the other man. He stumbled back, hands held out in protest. Fear and disbelief crossed his face when Ben's eyes suddenly turned solid black. “What the hell?” he whispered and nearly tripped over his footing.

Eyes turned normal again in a blink and with a flick of his wrist, Ben sent Bob flying across the front porch and against the solid oak door. His body hit it with a violent thud and he slowly slouched to the ground. “Ya got that right,” Ben muttered and, with a maniacal look, tossed Bob around like a toy, floor to ceiling, through a couple of windows, and repeatedly against the doorknob. Blood splashed everywhere he landed, like a hose spraying out his life force, and splattered his face, mingling with the hard-driving rain. Ben’s laughter was lost in the sound of the howling wind and thunder as the broken, fat blob of former humanity twitched in the throes of death. Then the gurgling stopped and the storm passed.

Oh yeah, Hell had everything to do with it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Makes me wonder what’s goin’ on_  
_When the night rolls in_  
_Something happens that feels so strong_  
_And I just can’t pretend_  
_Don’t you wonder_  
_What’s goin’ on[[x]](https://youtu.be/e4pbuMcPhV0)_

_Sully’s Bar, Gulfport, Mississippi. The next evening…_

The sounds of Kenny Wayne Shepherd blared over the noise of the packed-out bar. It was almost like a competition. Patrons struggling to be heard over the loud music would push the ambient sound higher, only to have the DJ push the music louder so it could be heard over the patrons.

Even if it was well known, Sully’s Bar was pretty busy for a Tuesday night.

Sam Winchester mostly ignored the patrons scuttling about like lab-rats in varying degrees of intoxication. Bars had become the normal environment for him and his brother Dean.

Every night a different bar, though the crowds always seemed the same. Didn’t matter where they were, how far they had driven, or where they needed to be, there was always time for a bar, a couple beers, and a woman or two.

At least, that was how Dean saw it. Normally, Dean Winchester didn’t dabble with members of the opposite sex during a hunt. Clouded the judgment, make you sloppy, he always said. Never mix business with pleasure.

Sam’s jaw tightened as he looked up from his work – the small pile of newspapers in front of him – and watched his brother work his magic on two women at the same time. Since Dean’s deal with the crossroads demon, nothing had been the same, Sam thought as he studied his brother for a moment. The smile that did not quite reach the eyes. The smirk that always intended to seduce, despite the hint of bitterness that lay beneath. Only someone paying close attention to him would have seen that, as Sam had. He wondered how Dean lived with it, the knowledge that it would all be over in just under a year. Eleven months, seven days, and three hours, to be exact, but then again, who was counting? Sam sure as hell wasn’t.

He sighed and took a long draught of beer, taking a moment from his task to peruse the rest of the smoky, dimly lit bar. He bit back the surge of anger that infused his being at the thought of Dean’s selfishness. _How could he have done it?_ Sam wondered bitterly, a dark look crossing his face. How could he trade his life so carelessly and then be _happy_ with the knowledge that he had done his job – protecting his brother – and would leave Sam all alone in the world.

And like it or not, Sam would be alone. There was nobody left. Literally. He shuddered at the thought that forever lived in the back of his brain. Their parents were gone; the few relatives Sam had met as a kid were either long gone or had been brutally destroyed by the yellow-eyed demon, who had been so bent on his family’s destruction. His friends at Stanford had long ago stopped emailing him. And despite his connections with the Harvelle roadhouse, he never considered Ellen or Jo close friends. He thought even Bobby didn’t always understand him. In fact, Sam wondered if the older man trusted him after Meg possessed him earlier in the year and went on a “Hunter Treasure Hunt” with his body.

Laughter caught his attention, and he saw Dean moving in on the brunette on his right: he whispered something in her ear that made her squeal with delight, and Sam knew that his brother would take off, leave him at this hole-in-the-wall bar, and show up sometime the next morning with a hangover and stories Sam never wanted to hear. Hunting was the last thing on Dean’s mind, and Sam wondered if dragging his brother all the way to Shreveport, Louisiana to personally see the recommended hoodoo priest about breaking Dean’s deal was a good idea. Dean had told him he didn’t want to go, and Sam hated lying to his brother about heading for Louisiana to begin with. Your run of the mill, harmless haunting usually was not something they tackled unless there was nothing bigger to do, and ever since the Devil’s Gate opened and the army of Hell appeared on earth, the Winchesters had been, if nothing else, busy.

With a heavy sigh, Sam looked down at the pile of newspaper in front of him, grabbed the _Sun Herald_ and scanned through the headlines. They were in town, so why not check the papers for anything unusual? That was his usual M.O. to whittle away the time while Dean played ‘pimp daddy’. The front page immediately caught his eye, however, and interrupted his thought process: _Brutal Murder Halts Restoration Efforts_. Sam pulled the paper closer to him and read, eyes furrowed with concern. After a few moments, he raised his fingers and snapped at Dean impatiently. By some miracle Dean saw his impatient gestures and walked from his place at the bar to the table where Sam sat.

“Dude, do you mind? I’m a little busy right now,” Dean whispered and sat down with a thump.

“Shut up, and read this.” Sam shoved the paper towards his brother and crossed his arms. “Think there might be a job here?”

“There’s a job here, alright, and her name is Jenny.” Dean lifted his chin and smirked towards the brunette brightly.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Not the girl. The paper.”

Dean smirked and glanced back to the newspaper article. “Okay, so some random dude was found hanging in front of some old historical house.”

Sam nodded his head.

“And how’s this a job?”

“For one, the place has a reputation for being haunted. Two, look at how the guy died.” He pointed to a particular paragraph.

“Multiple lacerations across his chest and back. Blood all over the front doorknob?” Dean made a face and tossed the paper back to Sam. “Clearly he didn’t die from the hanging.”

“No, Dean, being plowed in the back with a doorknob probably did it,” Sam said sarcastically.

He glanced toward Jenny and smiled at her again. “So tell me again how this could be a case?” he asked, clearly distracted.

Sam wanted to knock his brother in the head for asking such an obvious question. “With all the cleaning up and rebuilding this place has seen in the last couple of years, doesn’t it stand to reason construction crews have disturbed spirits? I mean, Hurricane Katrina practically destroyed this place.”

“Is this like the time I hooked up with that chick named Katrina in St. Paul and nearly didn’t make it because of all those things she wanted to try on me?”

Sam stared at Dean incredulously. “You know, that’s an image I’ll never get out of my head. Thanks a lot.”

Dean smiled. “You’re just jealous because you’re afraid of having a little fun.”

Wincing at the thought, Sam put the paper on the table and looked at his brother. “Don’t you have a girl to go hit on?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Dean stood up and caught another pretty brunette walk in the door, curves in the right places with long dark hair. He nearly whistled and leaned down to his brother. “You go take care of her while I’m working, okay Sammy?”

Sam suffered through Dean’s smart pop on the back as the older brother headed back to Jenny. He got to his feet and walked to the other end of the bar – the one close to the door – and ordered another beer. He felt a presence move up beside him and saw the raven-haired woman Dean had pointed out beside him. Scooting over to make room for her, he nodded a little apologetically. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, _cher_ ,” she drawled, a soft deep southern lilt to her voice. “You were in your own little world. Who am I to take you out of it?”

He looked down at her and into the richest pair of hazel eyes he had ever seen. Surprised and a little shy suddenly, he looked back towards the bartender and took his beer. “What will you have?” he asked her, without looking at her.

“Scotch on the rocks,” she told the bartender with a friendly nod and turned to look at Sam. “So what’s your name?”

“Sam.” He swallowed hard and felt his brother’s eyes on him from the other end of the bar. He glanced over at Dean, who had given him the thumbs up motion Sam had come to loathe. With an eyeroll, he looked back at the woman. “How about you?”

“Emma,” she said with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” Her drink arrived and she took it. Taking a small sip, she looked up at him. “You’re free to join me, if you want.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or relieved at her suggestion. Sure, she was attractive, but he had bigger problems at hand. Like the newspaper article and the possible job here. Dean, however, seemed to be taken care of at the moment, had chosen the brunette named Jenny and was walking out the door with her. Fortunately for him, the Impala’s keys were still in his pocket, which meant Sam at least had a ride back to the hotel. He smiled politely at Emma and shook his head. “Thanks, but I can’t. Got an early start tomorrow and I need to head back to the hotel.”

“Just passing through town?”

“Yeah, heading towards Shreveport.”

She laughed a little and took another sip of her drink. “Love that town,” she said. “Lots to do, places and people to see.”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Grabbing his beer, Sam nodded to her. “Nice to meet you, Emma.” His mind had already wandered back to the brutal murder and hanging. He wondered how much information he could dig up on the Tullis-Toledano Manor and whether a spirit had been involved, or just one really pissed off construction worker. He pulled away from the bar, downed his beer in a few large gulps, grabbed his things, and headed out of the club. In his mental distraction, he neglected the fact that a curious pair of brown eyes followed his every movement.

Emma leaned back against the bar and watched Sam leave quickly. “Bye, Sam,” she whispered with a secret smile and turned back to the bar. She saw Ken, the bartender, eyeing her with interest. She smiled and laid a twenty on the bar. “Hey, give me another one of these –” She indicated to her scotch “—and give me the lowdown on the Tullis-Toledano place.”

Though he took the cash, Ken frowned. “What makes you think I know anything about that place? Last I heard, the house was being rebuilt.”

Emma swallowed the last of her drink and watched as Ken poured her another one. “Come on,” she said, “you know as well as I do that you’re one of the few people in this town who really knows what’s going on. I bet you know what really killed Bob Silver last night.”

Ken gave her a look. “Maybe I do. So what? It’s not like that information’s ever going to be useful.”

“It could be if I tell you that I know someone who’s looking into it.”

“Like who?”

“Well, me for starters.” Emma leaned forward on her arms and smiled at him, a glint of anticipation in her eyes. “I know the papers aren’t telling the whole story, especially how brutally the man died.”

“And you think you know how he died.” The bartender’s statement was dull and matter-of-fact, despite the keen interest she saw in his eyes.

“Wasn’t the hanging, was it?” she said. “Several jabs to the back with the doorknob did it. And I bet the cops are going to have a field day with how the guy was impaled.” When Ken merely nodded mutely, Emma felt like she had finally gotten through to him. “So what’s the hoodoo community think it is? Couldn’t have been a human that did it.”

“Honestly? We don’t know. But all signs lately have pointed to some kind of terror in town, and it’s killing very specifically.”

Emma frowned and leaned back. She grabbed her second drink and sipped on it. “How do you mean?”

“You’re the reporter,” Ken said flatly. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Who said I was a reporter?” she asked and, handing the bartender another twenty, she stood up. “Thanks for the information.” One last polite smile and she walked out of the bar. Before she headed home, she would make a stop first at the Tullis-Toledano Manor. And while going there at night wasn’t the smartest thing – since rumors of spiritual activity had grown stronger since construction of the house began – Emma could not wait for morning.

 

* * *

 

The first stop Sam made before going back to the hotel for the night was the Tullis-Toledano Manor; he wanted to check out the scene for any sign of demonic activity. The partially constructed house stood proudly against the backdrop of the Gulf of Mexico, as if telling the rest of the world that a grizzly murder would not keep the doors shut permanently. And from what Sam read about the Mississippi Gulf Coast natives, the house closely resembled its people: never defeated, sometimes beaten down but strong enough to keep on through anything life tossed at them. So many had fled the area in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, and most had stayed away – for various reasons, he assumed – but those who chose to remain behind or returned had steadily begun the reconstruction process: a slow, painstaking, overwhelming task. Sam admired them for that.

Too bad his brother did not share the same sentiment, he thought and reached for the electromagnetic frequency – the EMF – device in his jacket pocket. His palms were a little sweaty from the humid June night, and for once he was thankful that he decided to wear a few layers of light-weight shirts instead of his bulky jacket. Being without his jacket made him feel a little naked, since they rarely went this far south, but the time of year prohibited his wearing anything that might make him look conspicuous. Especially when the natives and smattering of tourists wore little more than swimsuits wherever they went. And while he knew, with so very few lights illuminating the area, that his tall, lean frame slightly distorted with weaponry would not be noticed, he still needed to dress in some layers. Being wanted by the cops, the Feds, and nearly every other governmental law enforcement agency kept him ever watchful. At least he’d be somewhat cool.

Which was why the fact that Dean didn’t care galled him so much.

His lips tightened at the thought of his brother. Sam was tired of Dean’s tiredness, his desire to sink into oblivion before meeting the hellfire that would hold him for all of eternity. Although he wanted nothing more than to save his brother, Sam was disturbed by the way Dean had embraced this kind of defeat. Nothing would change his mind, and Sam knew how pissed he would be if he knew how much time and energy Sam had spent pouring through every known folklore surrounding crossroad deals and devils.

At the rate things were going, Sam would have to call the crossroads demon itself and play Twenty Questions before exorcising the thing back to Hell where it belonged. He was almost really sure that would be okay: the only thing holding him back was the idea what Dean might be taken early or, in doing so, would renege on the deal and he would drop dead. This murder in town was, for all intents and purposes, a momentary diversion. A hunt Sam could immerse himself in so he could ignore the unwanted “I will be alone in the world and not okay with it” scenario, driving him to desperate focus.

That kind of thing he had only seen in one other human being: his father. And look at what happened to him.

Sam had been roaming around the front yard, amidst the tons of lumber, construction equipment, and tools, scanning them meticulously with the EMF for some sign of spiritual activity. So far, nothing. As he slowly traversed the canopies of electric equipment and towards the front porch where the murder had happened, the thing turned hot and whirred impatiently. The meter lit a dark red against the darkness, which confirmed Sam’s theory that a spirit had been involved somehow. Closer examination of the tool tent revealed the presence of sulfur. Which indicated a demon had been here, as well. A spirit and a demon. Sam frowned, a hint of worry marring his forehead. Were these connected somehow? The EMF seemed to indicate recent spiritual activity, though as far as he knew, demons and spirits did not associate with each other. So what did it mean? If it was a demon, were they looking at a case of possession? And was this demon of the Devil’s Gate variety?

With Dean no doubt currently doing the horizontal mambo – something Sam shuddered to even contemplate – Sam could only air his theories in silence. No one was around to verbalize them to, unless some random person was hiding behind a pile of stones or the house itself to spy on him and catch him in the act of talking to himself.

By the same accord, Dean would probably kick his butt the second he found out Sam had gone on a scouting expedition alone… and at night. Not the smartest thing to do, he silently admitted, but anything was better than waiting around in a dingy hotel room for morning to arrive with nothing but his thoughts.

As if on queue, Sam heard a soft rustling behind him. He stiffened and grabbed his gun from his pocket. The soft click of arming it shattered the intense silence, but since the noises had continued, Sam figured the person or thing in question had not heard it. He ducked behind a stack of lumber and went very still. He steadied himself mentally and reached out into the silence, ears alert and body poised to strike if needed.

A small, narrow beam of light suddenly broke through the night, bouncing slowly to indicate its wielder’s slow, careful steps towards the front porch and, inadvertently, Sam’s hiding place. Grabbing his pocket-sized flashlight, he held it above the gun, stood up from his hiding place, and clicked the flashlight on. The low light shined on, revealing, to his amazement and suspicion, the face of the girl whom he had spoken to briefly at Sully’s Bar. The girl Dean had more or less demanded he hit on. Her dark hazel eyes widened with surprise and momentary fear at being caught. He heard her sharp intake of breath.

“God, you tryin’ to give me a heart attack?” she demanded in a hushed, impatient tone.

Despite the fact that his instinct told him she was okay, he frowned and maintained his stiff, defensive pose. “No, but maybe you were following me and pulled the innocent act back at the bar to keep me on my guard.”

“I am many things, and innocent isn’t one of them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Emma took a few steps closer to Sam and lowered her flashlight towards the ground. She glanced at the gun still in his hand and frowned. “You can put that down, ya know.”

“Why should I?” he asked but lowered the flashlight from her eyes slightly.

“Because I think I can help you.” She reached out and tried to take the gun from Sam, but he backed away and out of her reach.

“Oh yeah? How can you help? I don’t even know why you’re here.”

She shrugged, her black hair falling over one shoulder. “For the same reason you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“You want to know what killed that construction worker.”

“How do you know a person didn’t do it?”

“Because I heard through the grapevine that the guy’s body looked like it had been clawed up by a nail gun, among other things.”

Sam’s gun wavered a little, though he kept the flashlight on her. “What, are you a hunter?”

Without skipping a beat, she replied, “Of sorts.”

Her deliberately vague answers were beginning to get on his nerves. The last thing he needed was some woman lurking around while he was trying to investigate a crime scene. “Who are you?” he asked warily.

Emma smiled and handed Sam her card. He perused it for a moment. “Emma Boudreaux. Associate professor of History at the University of Southern Mississippi.” He looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow and ignored the sting of curiosity in his gut. “So?”

She shook her head. “And researcher of all things strange and supernatural. Call it a hobby.”

“And your hobby includes trespassing on private property to get a kick out of seeing dried blood all over the place?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing, Sam?” she snapped back, her face blanching at the implication.

 _It’s my job_ , he thought, though he dared not speak the words out loud. The fact that he had slipped up already and asked if she was a hunter was bad enough: to make things worse, she had not given him a befuddled look, which said two things. She either knew something about the true nature of the hunter . . . or she _was_ one. She certainly could have passed for a hunter, with her lean, toned body revealing itself beneath the snug jeans and t-shirt she wore. He shook his head and wondered at his thoughts. Being distracted by a beautiful woman was the last thing he needed. For all he knew, she was a ruse to keep him off a demon’s track.

“Who are you, really?” he asked and ignored her question.

She frowned, and for a moment Sam thought he had hurt her feelings. “I always figured hunters to be paranoid, but buddy, you take the cake.” She gripped the small bag she carried over her shoulder. “I am who I say I am, and if you’d like to know more about what I know, you should come with me. Maybe bring the guy I saw you with at Sully’s.”

“What do you know about hunters?” he persisted.

“Enough to know that if you’re in town, this recent series of murders is demonic in nature, just like my hoodoo connections have hinted.”

Hoodoo. That caught Sam’s attention for a moment. Maybe she could help him find a way to get Dean out of his _Road to Hell_ deal. Maybe there was something he could learn from her. Maybe… “Okay, fine,” he said and let his tense body relax a bit. He lowered the gun and lowered the flashlight so it shone on her lower extremities. “We’ll come see you. When?”

“How about tomorrow, around two o’clock? I’ll be done with class by then.”

“Okay.” Nodding a goodbye, Sam turned to leave.

“Wait a second,” she called out and made Sam stop in his tracks. He turned, the gun in his hand ready for anything she might toss at him. Determined like the people of this area were. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

He blinked back his surprise, though he knew she would not be able to see it in the fading light of their separated flashlights. “Winchester,” he called before he realized he should have tossed one of his fake surnames at her.

“Like the gun?”

“Yeah.”

“See you tomorrow, Sam Winchester,” Emma called and headed toward the front porch, her flashlight’s beam pointed in the direction of the places where Sam knew the attack had taken place.

Turning off his flashlight, Sam watched her move around the crime scene, partly from a sense that she could be dangerous, but mostly out of curiosity. It could not have been coincidental that she had been in that bar earlier. Sam did not believe in such things, especially when she not only knew Dean was part of this two-man operation, but also seemed to take an interest in _him_. Sam didn’t know what would be worse when he told Dean, the fact that Sam had a golden opportunity to hit on a beautiful woman, or that she knew about hunters in general.

Frowning again, he switched his flashlight on and headed towards her. She had walked slowly up the stairs and was examining the bloodstain patterns along the floorboards and around the doorknob. She seemed completely unconcerned that there might be an angry spirit lurking in the shadows, waiting to catch her off-guard and harm her. Sam wasn’t about to have her death on his hands; not in a million years.

“What are you doing?” he whispered loudly when he reached the base of the front porch steps and walked up them. The sudden jerk of her light suggested he had scared her, which was probably a good thing: better she be scared of him than the thing that went bump in the night. At least he could promise never to hurt her.

She turned and shone the light on him. “What does it look like I’m doing’?” she hissed. “I’m thinkin’ about making my own set of bloodstained steps and wanted to get a better look.”

 _Great. A girl as mouthy as Dean_. “You get that some _thing_ was here, right? And more than likely a restless spirit haunts this place?”

“Your point?”

“If you knew anything, you’d be checking out this place in the morning. Not at night, when spirits manifest themselves.” By this time Sam had reached her at the top of the steps. He could hear the EMF screaming loudly in his jacket pocket, a clear sign that where they stood was the worst place to be at the moment. He grabbed Emma’s arm and tugged her towards him. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

She laughed and tried to shake off his grip. “Nice try, but I can handle myself.”

“Ever seen a spirit? Know how to repel them?”

“Probably with whatever you have loaded in your gun,” she snapped. She stilled suddenly, however, and Sam felt her skin grow chilly with fear.

“And discharging it right now? Not the brightest idea in the world,” he said and pulled her down the stairs. “Come back in a few hours, when the sun’s up.” As he spoke, he swore he felt a presence close by. Something that might have been listening to their conversation. What confused him was, if a spirit was near, why it made no attempt to contact or hurt them.

But that was not the issue: getting both of them off this property took precedence. And based on how cold Emma had gotten, Sam suspected she felt the same cold spots and was too afraid to complain or twist away from him. If anything, she seemed to keep pace with his long-legged strides. Quite a feat for someone several inches shorter than him.

Emma’s car was parked next to the Impala, and she wasted little time in getting into the driver’s side. “Tomorrow, Sam,” she whispered quickly before she slammed the door and took off into the night, her car leaving deep intentions in the still damp earth from her desire to go.

Sam followed suit, starting the Impala and backing out into the dark highway towards the hotel. Of two things he was sure. He was determined to answer the question of the murders and learn more about the woman named Emma Boudreaux.


	3. Chapter 3

As Sam predicted, Dean did not return to the hotel until early morning. By then, Sam had already found plenty of information on Emma, as well as background on two other recent murders.

He was tired, but his brain had refused any kind of rest until he learned more about the woman and the case. His laptop was set up and, like him, had just about burned through its energy supply when he heard the door open and Dean’s familiar footfall on the carpet.

He looked up to find the eldest Winchester wearing dark sunglasses, indicative of a hangover. Among other things.

“You look like hell,” Sam said and glanced back to his laptop.

“Yeah, but good times, Sammy,” he replied with a smirk. “Good times.” He shrugged off his jacket and flopped down onto his bed in the hotel room. Taking off his sunglasses, he put them on the nightstand and tucked his hands behind his head. “You out to try it sometime.”

Sam rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Whatever. When are we leaving?” he yawned.

“We aren’t. Not yet.”

Dean looked over at Sam. “Why not? Have you seen this place? There’s nothing to do here. I mean, barely any of these casinos have anything interesting going on.”

“Guess you’ll have to stick to hustling in bars instead.”

“Didn’t listen to big brother and hit on the girl,” Dean grumbled to himself.

Sam rolled his eyes heavenward and snorted softly. “I was a little too busy scoping out a potential case – that murder I showed you – to do that, although she did speak to me.” Sam turned and looked over at Dean with a smirk.

“Dude, you talked to her, and then went to a crime scene when – why the hell did you even _go_ to a crime scene in the middle of the night? You know better!” Sam heard the anger, the irritation in his older brother’s voice and knew Dean had just figured out Sam broke one of the Winchester Family Rules: never scout for signs of activity at night. Not when spirits came out to party in the dark.

He glanced at his brother: Dean had moved into a sitting position on his unmade bed and looked irate, though Sam saw hints of worry masked under the anger.

“Dude, that’s reckless and you know it,” Dean said.

“Whatever,” Sam said and made a face.

“What is with you?” Dean demanded.

“Ever since you made that… deal… you’ve been boozing it up and hitting on anything with boobs, pretty or not.”

“So?”

“So, you know we don’t do that during a hunt. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me? _You_ know better.” Sam threw his own words back at him to emphasize his irritation over being yelled at for breaking the other rule. Especially since he had watched Dean happily plow through them the last few weeks.

“Give me some slack, will ya? I’m going to die soon.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Sam grumbled to himself quietly.

“And you gotta start taking better care of yourself, Sam.”

Sam shut his eyes and rubbed them wearily with his hands. Not a conversation he wanted to have. Not what he wanted to dwell on. So he remained silent, his frustration and anger preventing him from speaking. What was there to say? He refused to admit that his brother was going to die.

“Dude –“

“Never mind, okay? It happened. I did it. It’s over.”

Dean sighed and said, “So getting back to the girl –“

 _Here we go again_ , Sam thought wearily. “Yeah, what about her?”

“You talked to her and –?”

“Don’t finish that question, okay? Pressing business here.”

“Hey, she was hot!” Dean cried and then winced in pain at the obvious headache, proof he had been partying when he should’ve listened to Sam for a change. “I would’ve hit on her if Jenny hadn’t gotten to me first.” He smiled at the memory.

Sam rolled his eyes and said nothing.

“So you went to a _murder scene_ to get a better look at something you read in the paper and didn’t bother to ask that girl if she knew of some ways to help you… relax?”

“Not touching that with a ten foot pole,” Sam retorted and ignored the question. “Besides, it didn’t matter. I saw her at that house, where she insisted she could help me out – actually, _us_ out – because she claims to know something about hunters and spirits.”

Dean looked startled at Sam’s outburst. “What?” he said.

“You heard me.”

“What does she know about hunters?”

“I don’t know, but she wants to talk to us this afternoon.” If he was honest, he was curious to find out what she knew. The only information he managed to drag up about her was her birthplace and basic information about her family, schooling, and employment. She was clean on the Feds database and the only time a cop pulled her over was for a speeding ticket. Emma Boudreaux seemed to be that wholesome, decent all-American citizen who never strayed from the straight and narrow path.

Dean sighed heavily, wiped a hand over his face, and looked at the back of Sam’s head. “Tell me about the scene,” he said.

“I found traces of sulfur, and the front porch was covered in blood. EMF was off the charts. Something killed that construction worker. Brutally killed him, based on the coroner’s report I pulled up. There were doorknob-shaped holes in the guy’s back, and from the angle of the wounds, the man had been picked up and shoved. Repeatedly.”

“Wait, didn’t you say he was found hanging on the porch?”

“Yeah, but like I said before, that didn’t kill him.”

“Then why hang the guy after going through all the trouble to turn him into human Swiss cheese?” Dean asked. “We talking spirit or a demon?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Right now? I don’t know. It’s not like the demon popped by for visitation rights while I was there.”

“Hey, this chick –”

“Emma.”

“Whatever. _Emma_ could’ve been your demon, Sam.”

“No, she wasn’t the demon,” he replied quietly and frowned. He slouched in his seat a little bit and stared at the university picture posted on her professional website. He had asked himself the same question all night and wondered if, in fact, the demon behind the murder had been merely trying to get a feel for him. Hadn’t they encountered several other demons that escaped from the Devil’s Gate doing the same thing? “Investigating” the Winchester brothers? Continually looking for a loophole, some weakness to prey on them, to torture them or kill them?

But even in those situations, something felt off with the possessed persons. Sam thought of it as an interruption in their natural aura. Almost as if once possessed, the demon inside flipped the host’s AM station to FM, which caused a disruption in their bio-rhythmic systems.

How he knew anything about that, he wasn’t sure, but maybe that explained why Emma did not strike him as being possessed. She felt… natural. Innocent. True. Demons never came across that way. Even the Yellow-Eyed Demon, as powerful as it was, never quite fit into the body it inhabited.

“How do you know she wasn’t?” Dean asked and interrupted his thoughts.

“Just a . . . feeling. Or a hunch. Whatever.”

Dean snorted with amusement. “I knew it. You’re hot for her.”

“Believe it or not. It has nothing to do with the case.”

“Maybe not, but if she likes you, then I say go for it.”

“Dude, can we get back to the case?”

Dean sighed and stood up slowly. “Oh, Sammy, it’s always work, work, work with you. Can’t you learn to have fun and relax sometimes?”

Sam turned and stood up, facing his brother. His fists were curled into tight balls. “Because the more time we spend working, the more likely I am to…” Unable to finish his sentence, his voice died abruptly in his throat.

Dean hardened visibly. “To what? To get me out of something I went into deliberately? So until then, I get to work myself to death? Oh wait, too late for that.”

Sam paled. His eyes glittered with unspoken anger. “Don’t you talk like that, Dean. I’m going to get you out.”

“I just think if we had a little fun between jobs, then it’d be a hell of a lot fun when we find cases.”

“Really?” Sam spat back. “Because I think I have a case now, but you don’t seem all that eager to hop in and take a look!”

“That’s because I need to have a little more _fun_ , like I did last night!”

“Well, you had your fun, so let’s get to work already!”

“Why are you so hung up on working?”

“Because I am going to save you!”

“Sam, we are not having this damn conversation again!”

By this point, Sam and Dean were in standoff position, both prepared to beat each other into the hospital, each determined to get his point across, one way or another. Sam was annoyed that Dean had given up so easily, while Dean so obviously wanted him to let him go, so he could live out his remaining months in a semblance of fun and adventure.

“Fine,” Sam said finally and turned away, his eyes glittering with the memory of the last major verbal argument he and John had, the one that had sent Sam packing off to Stanford to put his childhood behind him forever. Of the very last one they had before John had been taken by Old Yellow Eyes himself. Suddenly the wind felt like it had been knocked out of his lungs: Dean punched him in the stomach and sent him careening to the floor. Sam remained there for a moment, too surprised to move. The searing pain in his torso spread and lingered for several moments.

He sat there for a moment and struggled to conceive what his life would be without his brother around. His mind couldn’t wrap itself around the bleak future, and in that moment, Sam realized he no longer knew how that would feel. He was numb to it; that might be a good thing for the moment.

“Look, let’s go check out your girl… Emma… and see what she has to say,” Dean offered and held out a hand to help Sam up. Grudgingly, he took it and lumbered to his feet.

Not looking at Dean, he sat down at the table again and began typing on his laptop. “Sure. Whatever you say,” he whispered and wondered how he would get through the next several hours with his brother in the same room. The elephant was not going away: ignoring it for awhile, though, might be the best thing. Especially since he wanted to do some background information on the locations where the string of violent murders had occurred in the last week. If a demon was behind it, then the timing of these murders was interesting, to say the least. He wondered again if the thing behind them was older and more powerful because it had resided in Hell for a few hundred years.

 

* * *

 

The University of Southern Mississippi had several campuses, one of which was along the Gulf Coast. Originally located on a southern plantation-style property in Long Beach, Mississippi, the campus had temporarily moved to Gulfport because of post-Katrina damage.

Sam had seen pictures of the original Long Beach campus and marveled at the sheer magnificence of the place. The 400 plus year-old Friendship Tree, a living monument to the long, colorful history of the area, stood proudly in front of the main building. The lush gardens and thick foliage reminded him of the untamed Amazon jungles, something he’d longed to explore and discover in his childish dreams.

He would have loved to have seen this place for himself, but with Hurricane Katrina’s decision to redecorate, he knew the old magnolia trees, if they survived, would need time to recover. Along with the distinctly Spanish-style building with the wide arched doorways and iron trellised balconies.

With the main buildings relocated to another place further away from the Gulf of Mexico, Sam wondered if the faculty, staff, and students missed the original campus. The aged makeshift buildings that served as classrooms and faculty offices lacked that Southern charm.

 _Pity_ , he thought as they parked the Impala in a parking spot and walked into the main administration building. They immediately headed down a long hallway, where the faculty offices were located. Emma’s was the first door on the right, so Sam knocked and they waited for a moment.

Dean looked down at the floor momentarily and intently.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam whispered.

“Just checking for salt lines or goofer dust,” he replied with a smirk. “She might think _we’re_ the demons and want to keep us out.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s casual tone but said nothing as the door swung open. Emma, clad in a business suit, hair tucked back behind her ears, was on the other side. A neutral smile graced her lips. He cleared his throat and elbowed Dean, who had looked up and was gaping with surprise. “Emma,” he said and nodded with a polite smile.

Her hazel eyes flashed amusement, along with some deeper emotion Sam could not immediately identify. “Hey,” she replied and stepped back. “Come on in and find a place to sit.”

Walking inside, Sam immediately noted the piles of books, papers, and other volumes of military and social history scattered throughout the office. Bookshelves lined two sides of the walls and were literally bursting with printed material, and the room itself was lit brilliantly with a large window behind what he assumed was her desk. With all the messy stacks on it, he could not be sure.

Clearly she was a woman who possessed a great deal of knowledge, he thought and scanned over the names of several volumes. Unless she was one of those pretentious professors who put on the show of expertise when, in fact, they knew little to nothing in their field.

Looking back to Emma, though, with her crease-less skirt and jacket, her hair neatly pulled back, he thought she looked more like a girl playing dress-up than a woman with enough education to teach at the collegiate level. That, combined with her attractive professional appearance, peaked his curiosity. Dean’s knowing gaze on him, though, snapped Sam from his thoughts.

“This place looks like a hurricane blew through,” Dean announced and dragged his eyes from his brother to look about the cluttered room with eyes honed on her.

Emma chuckled and picked up stacks of books from two chairs for them to sit down. “Yeah, her name was Katrina,” she said, “and it’s safe to say she hit hard and took no prisoners.” She motioned for them to sit as she perched on the only clean side of her desk. “But where are my manners? I’m Emma Boudreaux.” She held out her hand in greeting to Dean.

Sam watched, a little disgusted, as Dean stared at her hand for a moment before taking it. Lust shone in his eyes for a second. “Dean Winchester, and believe me, the pleasure’s all mine,” he said and winked at her.

“That what you said to that girl I saw you with last night?” she shot back with a wide grin.

“I didn’t have to use lines on her,” he said. “She was putty in my hands the second she set eyes on me.”

“My, we are full of ourselves.”

“You have no idea,” Sam grumbled under his breath and glared at his brother, who looked like he would laugh at any time.

Emma turned to look at Sam. “I’m surprised to see you, honestly. I thought after our conversation last night, you’d have assumed I was some kind of demon.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

She crossed her arms and gazed steadily at him. “But I sense a ‘but’ somewhere.”

“But I did my homework last night. Looked into other recent bizarre murders in this area.”

“And you,” Dean chimed in.

Sam looked at his brother a moment. “And funny thing: There’s been two other murders in the last week with similar m.o.’s, both also at restoration sites in the area. Both reputed to be haunted.”

She smirked. “So now do you know I’m telling the truth when I say I can help you?”

“No offense, lady,” Dean interrupted, “but how can you help us, besides do the history teacher thing?”

She stood up and moved behind her desk. Sam watched her fluid movements, surprised at her gracefulness as she produced a picture and a small book from her desk drawer. His eyes lingered briefly on her shapely body as she righted herself and turned to them again. She looked directly at him, as if she had felt his intense scrutiny, and smiled. “Because I’m more than a ‘history teacher’, _Mr. Winchester_ ,” she said to Dean while staring at Sam.

Dean smirked, but Sam knew his brother’s serious face when he saw it. “Call me Dean,” he said, taking the items from her hand and perusing them. His eyes darkened with awareness. “So you’re a part-time professor and know something about hoodoo?”

“Yes to both, though I’m researching information on paranormal phenomena with a couple other experts for a collaborative book. I’m studying the Louisiana and Mississippi coastal areas.” She studied Dean briefly before returning her gaze to Sam.

Sam’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “Wait, you’re telling me you were at the Tullis-Toledano Manor last night because you were looking for signs of spirits? What kind of proof do you need, Emma? I thought the place was haunted to begin with.”

“That’s a legend, but I proved it last night with the cold spots along the front porch. The new house is standing on the original structure’s spot.”

Sam nearly smiled at her simplistic interpretation of what she felt last night. He knew it went way beyond a cold spot. “What about the other two places? The Beauvoir place and that restaurant?”

“Mary Mahoney’s?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Same thing. Spiritual activity there, too. Cold spots all over the place. It was enough to make my hair stand on end.”

Sam leaned back in his seat and thought for a moment. She should be scared, especially since his theory at the moment was that a demon was behind the attacks. The only problem was how these spirits fit into play. He bet he would find EMF evidence if he went to the other two scenes; he wondered if he would find sulfur residue, though the recent rains made that improbable. His mind worked furiously, trying to put the pieces together.

“Tell me, Emma,” Dean’s voice shattered the momentary quiet, “what do you know about hunters?”

Sam’s head shot up, and he looked at Dean. “Dude, not now.”

“Yeah, now, Sam. I don’t have time to mess around with this chick if she can’t be straight with us.”

Emma sighed and moved from the edge of her desk to her more comfortable chair. That told Sam she was settling in for what she perceived would be a long conversation. “He’s got a point, Sam, so I will tell y’all. I knew a hunter once named Joseph. Blew through town a few years ago and took out a nest of vamps just north of D’Iberville. I’ve got all the documentation about it, since he came to me asking for help with the layout and history of the abandoned houses along Highway 15.”

Sam furrowed his brows at the name. “What was Joseph’s last name?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Fontaine, I think was his name. Joseph Fontaine.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. They had heard of the veteran hunter, his specialty was vampires, much like Dad’s friend Daniel Elkins had been. Last they had heard, Joseph was in North Dakota, holed up and waiting for his next nest of vamps to make an appearance somewhere and wreak havoc. “We know him,” Sam conceded finally.

“Figured y’all might,” she drawled with a grin. “Anyway, since I helped him with that hunt, I’ve kept my ear to the ground to see if there were other hunters around.” She indicated to them with a flick of her finger. “Apparently there are. Lucky me.”

Sam swore her eyes glowed with anticipation, which worried him. He wasn’t sure he wanted a woman on the hunt with them, not when a demon was probably involved and the burden of Dean’s life hanging over the fires of hell. He was sure she could probably handle herself, but there was always the chance she could get hurt. One thing Sam didn’t want was some innocent getting hurt on his shift.

“Not so lucky,” Dean replied for him and stood up. “We’d appreciate any historical background you can provide, but hunting with us is out of the question.”

She stood up and gave Dean a hard look. “Really? And why’s that?”

“Because you could get hurt,” Sam said. “This kind of stuff’s dangerous.”

“And as someone who grew up in a haunted house, I think I know what I’m doing.”

Sam snorted softly. “You grew up in a haunted house?”

“Yeah, my grandfather haunted our house. It was his, and it was where he died.” Emma stared up at him, daring him to contradict her knowledge. Sam stared back, trying to get a read on her, to use her eyes to see into the window to her soul. Unsure if what his gut told him was true.

“Was he malevolent? Bitter? Angry or vengeful?” Dean asked.

Emma shook her head but continued to stare at Sam.

“Then you had it easy,” Sam said after a moment. “Most spirits get angry after a few decades of being ignored, feared, or unable to complete their unfinished business.”

“That’s what I read,” she replied, “so I always thought _grandpere_ was just looking out for the family.”

“So in conclusion, you don’t know squat about the real thing,” Dean said with a smirk.

“Not so fast, hot-shot,” she protested gently. “I more than proved myself when Joseph was around, and I’ve since done some scouting around with people who know more about hoodoo spells and charm work to ward off evil.”

“And what you’re saying is that if we let you tag along, you could help us out and get the research for your book at the same time?” Dean’s question resonated in Sam’s mind, because he had been wondering the same thing. It was true that, occasionally, strangers helped them out on hunts, usually through research, but something about this hunt seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet, though, and he still doubted this woman and her professed ability to fend off spirits.

She shrugged and a few stray strands of hair pulled out of her hairstyle as she moved. “I admit, I could use some help in proving that spirits are real. Especially for this book.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of proof do you need? Pictures? Video? Sounds of something that goes bump in the night?”

Emma shot him an intense look and nodded. “Yeah, I do. Gotta problem with that, _cher_?”

Sam stared at her in confusion, though he heard Dean’s spluttered laughter resonate in the tiny room. “What did you just call my brother?” he said.

Sam saw a light blush creep across Emma’s face, and he had to admit, the extra color made her that more appealing physically. “Nothing, just an expression,” she said quickly and stood up. “I think the best place to start is –”

“— get background information on the houses in question and interview any potential witnesses,” Sam interrupted and finished for her. While he thought Dean wasn’t willing to help him out, Sam knew his brother would be appalled if he let a woman dictate this case. He felt his brother’s amused eyes on him and wanted to sink beneath the carpeting.

“Assuming we’re going to need your help,” Dean said.

Emma cocked an eyebrow at him. “I bet I’m better at research than you are.”

Sam bit back a spurt of laughter. Research might be Dean Winchester’s only weak point, but his older brother still had more skills at digging up points of interest than most educated people.

Dean snorted. “So you’re a book worm like Sam?”

“Maybe.”

Dean looked at Sam. “Think you can handle working with a chick?”

Sam released his pent up breath and realized Dean had more or less just informed him that Emma was going to help. After all, having someone around who knows the history of the area was always a good thing. “Sure,” he conceded after a moment.

“Does this mean I’m off the research hook?” Dean asked. When Sam turned and gave him a look, he shook his head. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll check out the first two scenes. There’s gotta be some people who saw or heard something.” He stood up and nodded to Emma. “Keep him in line, will ya?” he joked and headed for the door.

Sam suddenly felt uncomfortable with the apparent set-up, so he smiled apologetically at Emma and followed Dean out of the room.

“Dean, what are you doing?” he whispered after he shut the door behind him.

Dean grinned mischievously. “Giving you some one on one time with the girl. Didn’t you see the way she was checking you out?”

Sam pinned Dean with a look. “You are unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I know. Part of my charm.” Dean started down the hall and fist pumped into the air. “I’ll call when I get something!” he called and disappeared around the corner.

Sam watched his brother walk out down the hall and out of the building. Lines of worry creased his forehead as he stood there, lost in thought.

He knew Dean had good intentions and for all he knew, he’d come back in a couple hours with all kinds of useful information about anything strange or unusual that might have happened before the murders. But part of him knew Dean’s decision to work alone had a deeper meaning: he was trying to tell Sam to let him go, to let the deal go, and to find a life outside of hunting and the family. Maybe he felt Emma was the woman who, in Dean’s mind, might fit the bill for the picture perfect version of Sam’s life after his death.

As he turned the doorknob to return to Emma’s office, Sam wondered if she would understand why Sam would keep her at a distance, because if she got too involved with their lives, it could irrevocably change her for the worse.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean tugged at his tie as he walked away from the Beauvoir Estate, the place Jefferson Davis once called home. He had to read the infomercial sign at the front of the house to learn that Davis was a Confederacy president during the Civil War. _Must’ve been absent the day they went over that in school_ , he thought with a shake of his head. Who cared about historical events when he had better things to do, like hunt with Dad?

He got into the Impala and shrugged off the black suit jacket and tie impatiently. His shirt stuck to him like second skin, and he grumbled once again about the heat. One thing he hated about this part of the country was the weather: the humidity smacked you in the face the second you walked outside, and it was so thick a butcher knife couldn’t cut through it. But even the humidity could not reconcile him to the fact that the murders at the Beauvoir Estate and the Mary Mahoney’s restaurant troubled him nearly as much as Sam’s insistence on saving him, no matter what the cost.

He flipped open his cell phone and dialed Sam’s number. Since he left Sam with that busty brunette, Dean wondered if his brother had talked her out of her office, or if he’d spent the last two hours talking shop. The small flicker of a smile appeared when he assumed the second. “You still sitting in her office like a bump on a log, trying to figure out how to ask her out?” he asked the second his brother answered the phone.

“Bite me,” came the low growling response.

Dean laughed to himself: Sam’s response told him they were still in Emma’s office and probably talking about the case. “No, _you’re_ supposed to bite _her_ ,” he started.

“Was there a reason you called?” Sam interrupted.

Dean started the Impala and drove away from the antebellum mansion. “Yeah, I got the lowdown on the other two murders. It’s your lucky day.” He thought momentarily about the phone number he had gotten at his first stop – the hot blonde in public records – and knew he’d get lucky later.

He heard a scrambling on the other end and assumed Sam was getting something to write with. “Go ahead,” Sam said after a few moments.

“Okay, get this: both victims were construction workers, each one brutally murdered.”

“Yeah, Dean, we already know that. Just like we have a theory that it’s all connected to this Pierson Construction.”

“Who?”

“The company hired out to rebuild all these locations.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “Here’s something you don’t know: the construction supervisors from each site mysteriously vanished.”

“What do you mean, ‘vanished’?”

“Just that. The first murder at Mary Mahoney’s happened a week ago, and the supervisor – Patrick Collins – hasn’t shown up for work since then. Same thing with the Beauvoir House murder. Jay Wilson was the super there, and he’s missing, too. Both the restaurant and the house had to stop construction until the police investigations closed and the developers could locate a supervisor to replace the men who went missing.”

He heard a pause at the other end and could almost hear Sam’s mind processing this information. “Interesting. So no one’s heard anything from these guys?”

“Nope. Missing person reports have been filed for both of them, and how much you wanna bet with this latest murder that the construction supervisor has gone missing?”

“Already on that,” Sam replied. “I just pulled the one for Ben Rough up. Was there any indication that they were possessed before the murders?”

“Only thing I was able to piece together was the fact that the day of the murders, both men acted really weird. Like a light switch had been turned on: day and night kind of thing,” Dean said and turned onto Pass Road, towards the university.

“Classic indication of possession,” Sam agreed. “But that doesn’t explain why the EMF was picking up spiritual residue or Emma’s ‘cold spots’. What’s the connection there?”

“Who knows? Maybe these places really are haunted and the ghosts are looking for some kinky, worldly kicks.”

“Trust you to turn it into something… else,” Sam grumbled.

Dean laughed and turned the corner. “Aw, come on, Sammy. Haven’t you figured out yet that it’s all about the nookie?”

“So you keep telling me.” Sam’s flat, irritated voice told Dean that Emma was in the room, and their conversation had been all business. How predictable.

Dean’s brow crinkled with suppressed laughter. “And I’ll keep telling you until you listen,” he said. “Besides, I figure since Emma’s in the room with you, I can say whatever I want to you, and you can’t get pissed because I know you’re too much of a wuss to say anything back.”

Silence on the other end. A very long silence. Dean bit down on his lip as he heard Sam’s teeth grinding. “Just… come get me, please?”

“Sure, you’re at her place, right?”

“At. The. University.”

“Dude, chill out, okay? I’m on my way.” Dean heard the click on the other end and shut off his phone. He tossed it in the passenger seat and sighed. Sam needed to learn to loosen up, especially since he would have to find a way to go on after Dean was in Hell. _Hell. Can’t think about that right now_ , he thought and shut that part of his brain off. Better to enjoy the time he had left with his younger brother. Better that he teach Sam how to have some fun. He couldn’t afford to think about the consequences. Not yet.

One thing he was pretty sure of, though: there would be no crawling out of Hell like their father had done. For Dean Winchester, it was permanent. And as he headed towards Emma’s office, Dean wished for the first time that the waiting was over already. He wanted it over, his life: what was the point in hunting and banging women when all he looked forward to was the end of it? He’d deal with Hell’s permanence when he got to it.

But the police scanner interrupted his thoughts. He heard the female dispatch voice calling for backup, so he turned up the volume and pushed the Impala as hard as it would go.

 

* * *

 

Sam looked up from the short historical book he’d been perusing for a moment and stretched a little. He and Emma had spent the last hour looking up the histories of the Tullis-Toledano Estate and Mary Mahoney’s. Both boasted colorful histories of ghost sightings and hauntings, though they sounded as if they had been embellished through years of retelling.

Sam let his gaze wander to Emma, and he smiled. They had settled into a strangely comfortable silence, which he enjoyed. She looked so much at home amidst the clutter and mess of her office. She had shed her jacket and had taken her hair down. It framed her face, just enough curl in it to make him wonder whether it felt as soft as it looked. She had a pencil tucked behind her ear; a pad filled with notes on her desk, and had turned her attention to her computer, where she was attempting to pull up police reports on the first two murders. She looked deep in concentration, a slight furrowed expression on her face, and he smiled knowingly. He couldn’t help it: she wore emotions on her face quite clearly.

He stood up and walked to her, so he was standing behind her. “I think you’re going about it the wrong way,” he said softly.

She turned and looked up at him, her dark eyes revealing her surprise. “Didn’t hear you move,” she said.

“When you practically grew up in a library like I did, you learn how to be quiet.” Sam smiled, despite the half-truth he had spoken. As much as he loved the library as a kid, it was through hunting that he learned his stealth and subtlety.

She chuckled. “And here I thought it was being a hunter that did it.” She pushed away from her desktop and stood up, gazing at him. “Help yourself, Sam. I’ll be a good student and watch.”

He gave her a look and sat down. “It’s not about being a student,” he said and started typing, “It’s knowing the right . . . websites to use.” He paused and thought about all the illegal ways to access secured information, which he should really be performing on his laptop, not on a networked computer where someone could see what they were doing.

”Tell me about it. I can research obscure historical figures until the cows come home, but trying to search for police reports? Apparently not so great with that.” He felt the warmth of her body as she leaned close to him. Fortunately for him, certain things like missing persons reports and files were a matter of public record.

A faint hint of perfume tickled his nose and made him wish, for a second, that they were somewhere else, so he could show her how much her perfume enticed him. He tried to let that very visual thought pass. “What was the name of the construction supervisor from the Tullis-Toledano Manor?” he asked.

“Ben Rough,” Emma said, looking at her notes as she spoke. “That’s what Pierson Construction’s site listed, at any rate.”

He smiled. “That’s good for us, then, because look.” He pointed to the newly filed missing persons report. “According to this, Ben never reported to work yesterday, and his wife said he never came home the other night from work.” He turned and looked at her, a breath away from his face. He held her gaze for a moment before he backed away. Thoughts of her soft skin and full lips were not what he needed to concentrate on.

“Then it’s someone connected to Pierson Construction on the site killing their co-workers,” Emma stated finally and turned to look out the window. “But why? I know the reputed ghosts who haunt these places aren’t angry or vengeful.” She crossed her arms and studied the parking lot outside.

“If these people are possessed, Emma, anything’s possible,” Sam spoke quietly and got out of her chair.

She shook her head. “Possession. Isn’t that something ugly like you’d see in _The Exorcist_?”

“Yes and no. I mean, there’s no projectile vomit involved, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And to de-possess people, there are certain rituals you have to perform.” She turned and gazed at him steadily.

Slightly unnerved by her intense look, Sam took a deep breath. He felt like he was being questioned for a _History Channel_ documentary. “Yes, usually involving the Key of Solomon or some form of a devil’s trap, lots of holy water, and a decent working knowledge of Latin.”

She nodded solemnly. “I’ve done some research on the Catholic rites of exorcism, but I wasn’t aware that a layperson could perform it.” She smirked suddenly and crossed the space between them. “Unless you’re a priest and I didn’t know it,” she teased and put her hands on his chest.

The physical contact seared him, and Sam knew a come-on when he saw it. The problem was he didn’t know her, and he was definitely not like Dean, with his long string of one-night stands. In fact, the hands-off approach had worked for him in the past, though – when he thought about it – some women like Jessica liked the shy, awkward, geeky guy to begin with. And Emma was attractive, just as Jess had been. However, there seemed to be something in her nature – an assertiveness – that made him wonder why she liked him and not Dean. He threw her a shy smile and did not move. “No, not a priest,” he whispered.

Her smile grew wider and her hands slid up his chest. “Then telling you I think you’re a fine lookin’ man is a good thing?” she drawled and stared at him, the swirl of obvious attraction in her eyes.

He swallowed and smoothed his hands over hers. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He wondered at the butterflies in his stomach when she grabbed into his shirt tightly and pulled him closer. “Emma—”

Her eyes lit with mischief, Emma looked up at him and pressed her body close to his. “Really, Sam, I mean it. I’ve enjoyed researching with you the last couple of hours. Nice to connect with someone on my level for a change.”

Something in her voice gave him pause: soft, lilting, slightly melancholy. Like the world’s troubles rested on her shoulders, and there was no one around to help her maintain such a heavy burden. Quite frankly, it reminded Sam of himself, of what he could become if he couldn’t save Dean. Maybe it was of the sudden camaraderie, or because he wasn’t used to women making passes at him. Whatever it was aroused him, made him want to fall into the moment. Sam leaned down and kissed her gently. His hands settled at her waist when he did.

He felt her immediate response, a certain kind of relief mingled with pleasure, when she moved onto her tiptoes and returned his simple kiss. Emma felt warm, alive in his arms, and for a brief second, Sam savored the feel of her body pressed against his. She reminded him of the reality of living, of the life he might have had if destiny hadn’t propelled him down the road of a hunter.

When he broke the kiss and looked down at her, Sam saw the same warmth reflected in her eyes. “Me too,” he admitted quietly and, with a gentle squeeze of her hips, moved away from her. He watched the bright flush of acknowledgment in her cheeks and grinned more brightly because he knew he had done that to her.

Emma cleared her throat and tucked some hair behind her ear. The awkwardness of the moment had apparently rendered her speechless, and he enjoyed it. He felt infused with positive energy, something he had not felt in a very long time. He opened his mouth to say something else when he heard the familiar roar of engine. Looking out the window behind her, Sam saw the Impala pull into the closest parking lot. Dean had broken the moment, and he was not sure to feel irritated or relieved about that.

“Dean’s here, so I’m . . . gonna go,” he replied with a shy smile. “Want to meet up someplace tonight? Talk more about the case? We can talk about what Dean found out and . . . other things.”

She nodded quickly. “How about the Grand Casino, around 10 o'clock? It’s been open awhile and they have a great bar by the gaming floor. Full of dark, secret places to sit.” She blushed, and Sam watched the rosy color spread across her cheeks.

He grinned. “Dark places, huh?” He chuckled inwardly, but it had been awhile since he had asked someone out.

Emma nodded and bit her lip. “Yeah, so we can . . . talk,” she teased. “I’m looking forward to that discussion.” She flashed him a bright smile, which nearly made him trip over himself as he left her office.

Sam barely noticed the short walk to the Impala, his head filled with images of Emma, of seeing her again and the things they could talk about. All that came to a screeching halt when he got into the passenger seat and found Dean sitting there, staring at him with a hard look on his face. Sam sensed trouble, especially since the police scanner had been cranked up and a woman’s voice speaking firmly about a 187 at the Beau Rivage Casino.

“Dude, there’s been another murder.”


	5. Chapter 5

The Grand Duke’s Pub was just beginning to gather a crowd by the time Emma walked in. The soft music in the background was like a gentle thump, a constant reminder that the bar was alive and swarming with a different variety of patrons – mostly tourists, rather than the native hoards who frequented the likes of Sully’s. Nevertheless, she felt a soft hum in her blood; [the quiet bass line](https://youtu.be/fstBMFFsnXI) matched her steady heartbeat.

Funny how she should feel so calm when the thought of Sam Winchester brought anything but peace. She looked around the darkened room and immediately found Sam and Dean perched at the end of the long, narrow bar. She noticed that Sam faced towards the door, though his brother was positioned so he could easily check out the front of the establishment as well. She assumed they were deep in conversation by the serious looks on their faces and briefly wondered what had happened after he left her office that afternoon.

If she was honest with herself, she would admit she was curious about Sam in general. Aside from getting him to admit that he was a hunter, Emma hadn’t been able to coax him into opening up at all. She’d sensed a shyness in his demeanor, something that shielded him from the rest of the world. Maybe it was self-preservation; to do what he and his brother did regularly had to take its toll. Emma imagined they never stayed in one place long, nor formed lasting relationships of any kind.

That last thought depressed her. She wasn’t looking for long-term or serious, but she did understand how lonely life got when you didn’t have anybody else. She had seen a hint of such emotion in his eyes earlier but wasn’t sure why. He at least had Dean with him. After all, family was more important than anything else in the world, right?

As she approached, she saw Sam pick up a long-neck bottle of beer and take a long swig from it. She admired his throat, the way the light played off his skin, and smiled to herself. His long fingers gripped the bottle gently, and she allowed herself to wonder how he’d trace them over her skin. Her body temperature rose a little as the thought lingered.

She liked this guy: if practically throwing herself at him today wasn’t the most obvious clue, then staring at him now forced her to admit it consciously. Her heart thudded heavily in her breast when she saw his face light up suddenly. He’d noticed her and had stood. Was walking towards her with a smile on his lips and warmth in his eyes. She quickly smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear and closed the space that separated them.

“Right on time,” Sam said in a somewhat louder than usual tone of voice. The music had changed into something more upbeat and was, consequently, battling to see how well it could drown out their talk.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said and grinned at him.

Dean turned and smiled at her: Emma thought it looked more like a leer than anything. “Sammy’s been waiting for you to get here.”

“Let’s grab a table,” Sam said and took her hand. She bit her lip and watched as he deliberately ignored his brother’s remark and led her to a table in the corner.

They sat down and Sam ordered a round of drinks when a waitress appeared. Emma cleared her voice and tried to act like the butterflies in her stomach didn’t bother her. “So,” she started but stopped when she met Sam’s intense gaze. He stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered briefly what he was thinking about. Obviously he was glad to see her, though his sensuous gaze told another tale. She tried to speak but couldn’t: her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Embarrassed and a little self-conscious of her body’s reaction to the object of her lust staring like a dying man in need of water, she looked down and cleared her throat.

“Sam, either tell her about the case, or let me go hit on that blonde chick at the bar,” she heard Dean say. She felt the blush of embarrassment burn her cheeks.

Looking up, Emma saw Sam shake off whatever trance he’d been in and lean across the table. “Another construction worker’s been murdered,” he said.

Emma blinked, horrified. “What? Where?”

“Beau Rivage casino,” Dean replied in a serious tone. “Heard it over the police scanner when I got Sam this afternoon.”

Speechless, she sat there for a moment and tried to wrap her brain around what they just told her. Four murders, she thought. In a matter of a couple weeks. She shook herself mentally as she fought off the low crawling burn of fear in her stomach. _I’m stronger than that._ “H-How?” she whispered after a moment.

She didn’t miss the look that passed between the brothers, a silent communication of debate, she guessed. “Uh, looked like the guy was beaten to death with a two-by-four,” Sam said after several moments.

“But you think it was something else?”

He nodded. “Dude’s back looked like fifty miles of bad road, like he’d been smashed repeatedly against something.”

She winced and took another long drink of her beer. She hoped they didn’t notice her trembling hands, nor the fact that she felt cold as ice, despite the heat in the room. She was glad she hadn’t been there to see what was left of this man and thought about the loved ones he might have left behind. _A wife and kids or parents? How were they told?_ she wondered idly.

However, Emma heard the hesitation in Sam’s voice and sensed that he wasn’t telling her the whole story. She forced her thoughts to still and glanced from him to Dean, then back again. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked carefully

“You sure you want to hear it all?” Sam asked in a concerned voice.

“Yes, I’m sure.” _No, I’m not, but please tell me anyway._

“Guy’s head was cut off,” Dean said suddenly. Emma started in her seat and turned to look at him. He was the picture of casual: sipping on his beer, an even look on his features, eyeing a girl at the bar. All just another night in the life of a hunter, she guessed. Part of her envied that form of survival mode until she realized – and couldn’t begin to comprehend – what he had seen to get there.

Her eyes shifted to Sam, who looked concerned more for her than for the poor man who had died so violently today. What had they both been through? What made them hunters? The questions burned in her mind, though she hesitated to ask them. Another time, perhaps.

She sucked in a steadying breath. “Think it’s a demon?” she asked.

Sam looked like he wasn’t going to answer her question, but nodded after a moment. “It’s possible. EMF was all over the crime scene, too, so there was definitely spiritual activity there.”

She frowned and shook her head. “No, that’s impossible.”

“Why not?” Dean demanded, though he sounded like his heart wasn’t in their conversation.

“Because the Beau Rivage isn’t haunted. It only opened eight years ago.”

“So? Theoretically that’s long enough to make a place haunted.”

“But nothing particularly violent’s happened there since it opened. Therefore, your theory doesn’t work.” She gave Dean a hard look.

“It’s why we’re telling you this,” Sam interrupted and put a hand on her arm. “We’re going to need some help with the history of these places. I’m really beginning to think that there’s cursed object involved somehow.” He smiled. “You up for a little research?”

“Tomorrow?” Dean interrupted Sam and leaned into Emma quickly. “Show my brother a good time for once.” She watched with some amusement as he winked at her, stood up, clapped Sam on the back, and walked away towards the tall, lean blonde who had obviously caught his attention.

She smiled and turned to Sam, who looked like he wished he could sink into the hardwood flooring. She got the impression the oldest Winchester liked to get his brother’s goat as often as possible, and while she might be the vehicle of said prank, she agreed with Dean. “Yeah, I think I can show you a good time,” she whispered and ignored the heat that rose in her face again. She would much rather spend time getting to know this man tonight and deal with the horror of what they’d told her tomorrow.

She felt his hand on her arm slide away and leave goosebumps behind. Her fingers brushed his, which seemed to halt his physical retreat. Their eyes met, and Emma watched the swirl of intense pleasure in his. Her smiled widened, and she wondered if her bold streak would last.

 

* * *

 

With his gaze locked on hers, Sam thought about how losing himself in her dark eyes was a great idea, though not in the way Dean probably had in mind. He was tired, especially after the intense afternoon he and his brother had. They had mingled in the crowd of onlookers that had formed behind the police barricade and found specific spots to eavesdrop on conversations among the Biloxi PD and the coroner’s office.

They had gotten the information that they needed. Just as with the other murders, the victim – Justin Heely – had died from blunt force trauma to the back. In his case, he’d been slammed repeatedly into a board that was used to hold line for smaller boats at the dock next to the casino.

And like the other deaths, the murderer hadn’t stopped there, but had gone on to do further injury to the neck. This time decapitating the body, rather than settling for hanging it.

There was one other similarity: once again, everyone on the construction site except the supervisor had been accounted for.

The twin images of Gordon Walker and Dean both decapitating a vampire had come to mind and lingered there all day. The desire to tell Emma was great, but he figured with the way she was looking at him, that conversation would have to wait.

Sam had wondered at the near randomness of these acts. The men who had been murdered, aside from their being construction workers, bore no resemblance to each other, had been of varying ages, sizes, martial statutes, and locales. Two had not been from the Gulf Coast, while the other two had come from Bay St. Louis and Pascagoula, two Mississippi towns on opposite ends of the state line. However, he had begun to see a pattern: if construction workers were being targeted, that suggested the possibility that someone held a deadly grudge. No doubt the cops were looking for a viable suspect, but he figured the best place for them to start was with other cases of supervisors being murdered by their workers.

The fact that each murder had happened on a construction site originally told him that maybe spirits had been involved, that perhaps they were upset over something being unearthed during reconstruction. After all, that was something spirits usually did. Sometimes they turned malevolent; others became troublemakers. And as was usually the case, cleansing the structure or site took a little bit of time and experience before hitting the road again. Unless, in this particular example, the area itself might not be haunted: if a tool was being used at each location, then the ghost might be connected to something as simple as that.

Did that mean some piece of machinery or equipment had been used at all the sites? He made a mental note to find out if Pierson Construction shared specific pieces of equipment among all their locales and whether there might be signs that pointed to a cursed object. Something to explain the presence of supernatural activity.

But the way the last two men had died made Sam pause in thought. Dean had used a power saw to kill once: this latest murder looked eerily familiar to that dark night. While stuck in Cold Oak, Colorado, Sam had witnessed a brutal hanging; the victim at the Tullis-Toledano Manor had been hung in a similar fashion. Though each crime scene had turned up traces of EMF and sulfur, he began to wonder if the demon somehow knew the Winchesters and their experiences and killing patterns. That didn’t explain the reason for the ghosts, however, and neither of them had seen anything to indicate ghosts were actually haunting these places. Besides, as Emma had stated, the Beau Rivage was only eight years old: that was too young a structure for a haunting, and nothing really wrong had happened there, unless you counted the cursed object theory.

But the couple beers in his bloodstream was beginning to have their desired effect: Emma’s presence intoxicated him, and the slight buzz he felt made him temporarily lose whatever connections he had formed in his mind earlier. The near-argument he’d had with Dean over his goose hunt theories forgotten. For the moment, there was only her. And he wanted that. Needed it.

”It’s kinda hot in here,” Emma said, and her voice brought him out of himself. “The beach is on the other side of the casino. Wanna walk along the sand?”

If Sam did not know any better, he’d have thought she was really trying to pick him up. A surge of adrenaline flowed through him, and he chuckled. “I haven’t walked on a beach like that in. . . well, never.”

Emma feigned surprise. “Never? Why, _cher_ , you haven’t lived until you had the sand squish between your toes!”

Sand and moonlight and water lapping gently against the shoreline sounded almost too good to be true. The last thing he wanted to talk about was the case, or the theory of the mad killer demon knowing about the Winchester Way of Life. He wanted to ask Emma about her connections among hoodoo practitioners, but didn’t know if he could do it without going through a round of Question and Answer from her. Telling her anything about Dean and The Deal was out. It hardly mattered how badly Sam wanted to find what amounted to a pardon. He knew Dean _did not_.

His brother might still play the part of the hunter, Sam knew it was mostly a show to keep him in line. Gotta keep the Winchester line hunting, taking care of the family business. Sam knew that was the mantra going through Dean’s head.

He forced his thoughts away and looked at her expectant face. Warmth flooded through him and he smiled. “Let’s go,” he replied and fished out the money for their drinks. He made a detour long enough to pay the bartender and get a knowing look from his brother. Sam gave him a look and positioned his hand into the international symbol for “call me if you get into trouble”, and then followed Emma outside.

The short, five minute trek to the beach itself was filled with mostly companionable silence. They walked slowly, Sam forcing himself to keep pace with her so she didn’t feel like she was running a marathon to keep up with him. The second they stepped onto the deserted but well-lit beach, she kicked off her sandals and dug her feet into the sand. Sam watched her bend over, roll up her jeans to her calves, and take off with a mad dash towards the Gulf of Mexico. Laughing at her youthful glee, he kicked off his boots and socks and followed her, catching up with her before she hit the water.

“I try to do this at least once a week,” she said and kicked a spray of water out to sea. “Keeps me grounded and mindful of why I’m here.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at her and crouched to roll up his pant legs so the water would not soak his jeans. “Yeah, and why’s that?” he asked.

“To do some good for other people,” she said and looked down at him. “To use what I know to help other people. That’s what Mama believed, and my _grand-mere_ , too.”

How much did that resonate inside him? _Saving people, hunting things? The family business!_ “Sounds like you’re close to your family.”

Sadness glinted in her eyes. “They’re all gone,” she whispered, “but yeah, I was close to them when I was younger.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and nodded. He understood too well the loss she conveyed without speaking a word.

“It’s been several years,” she shrugged and turned out again towards the dark water. “I’ve learned to live without family.”

An air of loneliness enveloped them both, and Sam watched as she dipped her head for a moment. Her shoulders lifted in a steadying sigh, as if she were composing herself. He felt the water lapping at his ankles, the sand covering his feet like a cool glove, and thought about his parents and where they were, whether they were watching him in this moment, with this woman – who was so confident yet possessed a melancholy that radiated off her. The moment passed, though, when she turned to regard him with curious eyes. The nearly full moon shone down behind her and created a halo around her shape. Talk about a Kodak moment: Dean would have been gagging.

He cleared his throat and looked away, so he would not be caught staring. “My parents are both dead, too, so I kinda know what you mean.” Sam shoved his hands into his pants pocket, unsure of what to do with them.

“May I ask . . . how they died?”

He swallowed hard and thought for a moment. He wanted to come out and tell her that his mother had been brutally murdered and he was too young to remember, that his father sold his soul to save his brother. And while Emma knew something about death, having experienced it herself, he had no intention of scaring her with the horrific details about his family history. “Mom died when I was young, so I don’t remember it. Dad’s been dead a little over a year.” He looked back at her, his words taking flight on the warm, salty night air and swirling around him.

Emma’s hair fluttered gently in the breeze, and Sam fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear. When she did that for him, he bit back a stab of disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sam,” she said quietly. The moonlight made her eyes twinkle with some unknown emotion, something Sam had not seen in a long time. Empathy. It seemed like she knew where he was coming from.

He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s all in the past.”

“Yeah, but the loss never really goes away, does it?”

Sam nodded his head in agreement, and they were silent for a moment. “So I have to ask,” he said after studying her open face, “how much you know about hunters?”

“Just what Jake had told me,” she replied and took a couple steps around Sam, letting the water lap at her feet. “That there are people out there who know demons and spirits are real, and they need to be taken care of. I didn’t know vampires were real until he came into town.”

He laughed. “They’re not like Bram Stoker’s _Dracula_.”

“No, I’ll take the Count over what’s real any day,” she laughed.

“And why’s that?”

“Are you kidding? Drac’s sexy as hell with the hypnotic stare and the ‘bad boy’ thing going for him. Why do you think I watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” She moved around him in a circle as she spoke, her words quick and breathless, almost like she was nervous.

Taking her by the arm, he stopped her in front of him and smiled. “You watched Buffy? Seriously, do you know how . . . off that series is?”

Emma took a step towards him, into the hard muscular wall of his body, and looked into his hazel eyes. “Yeah, but you gotta admit, the snark was off the charts.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. Not something I watched, unless Dad was teaching us what _not_ to do.” He grimaced at what he imagined were Hollywood versions of the hunter and the vampire. If people only knew.

She eyed him and put her hands on his chest again. “One of these days, I really want to hear about your dad,” she replied softly, her fingers curled into his shirt. Sam moved his hand up her arm and cupped her cheek lightly. He watched her move into his touch and wondered again why she wasn’t more attracted to Dean: hadn’t she mentioned something about the ‘bad boy’ thing? Wasn’t that what Dean bragged about all the time?

“Maybe one day, you will,” he confessed and stroked her cheek. His fingers threaded into her long, dark hair carefully. The humidity had made it a tangle of curls, and he had a feeling that tugging on it would only make a mess of things. He looked into her eyes, warm and curious, and felt drawn to her despite his best intentions to remain hidden behind his wall. It wanted to crumble, and he wanted it to stay in place. No one needed to be behind it or see who he really was: a mess of a man, lost in the quagmire of death, blood, darkness, and study. Emma should not be exposed to that, ever. That thought sobered him, and he stepped away. “But . . . I wanted to tell you something. About . . . the case.”

He felt her disappointment and saw hurt in her eyes at his rejection, but she let him go and closed her face off to any emotion. “Sure, whatcha got for me, _cher_?” she asked absently.

Sam made a mental note to ask her about her favorite catch phrase but let it go in lieu of business matters. “It appears that these are random killings, except for one thing,” he said. “They’re all happening on reconstruction sites.”

“Seems like someone or some _thing_ doesn’t want this area to be built again,” she agreed.

Sam nodded. “It’s possible,” he said, “but it still doesn’t explain the presence of spirits at each crime scene. Especially since you said the Beau Rivage isn’t haunted.”

Emma shook her head in agreement. “I’ve lived here much longer than it’s been in business, and there’s never been anything news-worthy there, besides blurbs about someone winning beaucoups of cash.” She paused for a second in thought. “Unless you want to think about the Mob. It’s well-known that they have ties to a couple of the larger casinos in town.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but something caught his attention out on the Gulf: the light from the moon had tagged something floating out there, propelled towards the shore by the movement of the gentle waves, and not because it had the capacity to do it on its own. Sam stepped in front of Emma, a protective movement, and grabbed his gun and a small flashlight from the back of his jeans.

“So that explains the layers,” Emma muttered, which made Sam smile in spite of himself. Most people would ask what was going on: she was too busy critiquing his wardrobe.

“It has its uses,” he said quietly as he trained his flashlight towards the thing bobbing in the dark water.

He felt her hands settle on his hips. “Not when you’re trying to convince someone to get out of it,” she said under her breath, so quietly Sam almost did not hear it. He wanted to say something, but he focused instead on identifying the unknown object slowly drifting closer to the shore. When he remained silent, Emma dug into his sides and stilled. “Sam? What is it?”

Initially, Sam could not say. The flashlight did little to dispel the darkness around them, and the light bouncing off the waves hindered his sight. Moments passed in quiet anxiety: it drifted onto shore, and Sam was finally able to make out the silhouette of a hand, an arm, the fluttering of wet hair and clothing. He swallowed hard and lowered his gun. “It’s a body, Emma,” he said flatly.

He felt her shock. “A . . . body? As in . . . ?” Her head rested against his lower back, which told Sam she was struggling to find the words to convey her shock.

“Yeah, I think so.” He reached for her hand and, turned around to look at her. Shielding the thing from her sight, he backed her up the beach several hundred feet and back to where they had left their shoes. “I’m calling 911,” he said and cupped her chin to get her to look up at him. He saw unshed tears swimming in them and wanted to find a way to wipe them away. “Okay? You stay here. Don’t go down there.”

When she nodded and sunk down onto the sand, Sam turned away long enough to dial emergency and phone in the sighting. He made a mental note to call Dean as soon as he found out who the floater was, especially since he had a sneaking suspicion it was one of the missing construction supers. The question was which one.

The case had taken a turn for the worse, and Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was next.

 

* * *

 

As suspected, the body was identified as Patrick Collins, the construction supervisor who disappeared from Mary Mahoney’s restaurant. Shortly after Sam made the call, the cops and emergency officials arrived, found the body, and made a positive identification based on the contents of his wallet.

Sam stayed with Emma while the police spoke to them: he switched into auto-pilot while he answered questions. He maintained his careful neutrality – in his face, his posture, his vocal patterns – so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. Emma stood next to him, her hand in his, and played the part of the shocked but steady girlfriend well.

Her demeanor impressed him: it seemed unshakable, and but for the crease of her forehead, Sam would never have guessed that she was anything but the innocent bystander that he claimed they were. He winced inwardly and realized that, no matter the situation, his work always came between his relationships.

For her part, though, he wondered just how much she knew about keeping her true self hidden from the rest of the world. When you lost parents, family members, you tended to create walls around yourself. No one got in. You’d always be safe. But alone.

Losing her parents must have been more traumatic than she’d let on, he realized and squeezed her hand gently.

The police had care herded them away from the body, but Sam had been around enough crime scenes to know where to stand and what to listen for.

By eavesdropping on a conversation between the medical examiner and the investigating detective, he learned that the body was mostly intact, save for the natural decomposition that came from floating in an ocean full of scavengers for several days. The medical examiner’s initial guess was that the victim drowned.

To Sam, that diagnosis could only mean one thing: that the thing possessing the victim had decided to drown its host and leave it moments before the body died.

Breaking into the coroner’s office to look at the body and confirm his suspicions would be the first item on the agenda in the morning.

As the police ended their line of questioning and walked away, he looked down at Emma and noticed her eyes fastened on his face. They were sharp with curiosity, he noted, as if something  he said had piqued her interest. She was really quite a beautiful woman, one that could hold her own and no doubt held the secret to life inside her heart somewhere. At the moment, though, she was so carefully neutral: nothing about her betrayed any inner emotion.

In fact, he had not guessed she was angry until she approached him after the cops were finished with their questioning and grabbed him by the arm. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on here? Why you were about as talkative as a catfish on a rainy day with the police?” she demanded quietly, a hard edge to her lilting Southern accent. She looked like she wanted to speak again, but Sam noticed she bit her lip instead and waited for an answer.

Sam swallowed hard and looked sheepishly down at her. “It’s a long story, Emma.”

“Long story. Let me guess: You’re probably wanted by the cops.”

“Okay, maybe not so long,” he said under his breath.

“Good God, Sam. You think they care about anything else right now when there’s missing people, murder, and more death on top of all that?” she asked but frowned in disapproval.

“Actually, you’d be surprised,” he replied.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “How do you know?”

He leaned over to her and took her arm. Clearly she didn’t understand the first thing about being in trouble with the cops. Unfortunately, being a hunter meant skirting around the law and hoping the authorities never took notice, but he figured she’d freak out if he mentioned that he and Dean were probably on the Feds Top Ten Most Wanted List.

“Trust me, okay?” He sighed and looked away. “I’m going to call Dean. Time to hit research mode.” He got out his cell and hit the button to call his brother, all the while unable to glance at Emma. He felt her intense gaze on the back of his head and wondered if she was trying to see into his mind or fry it somehow.

He heard Dean answer on the second ring. “This had better be a life or death situation,” he threatened.

Sam heard a breathy female voice and the thump of something in the background, so he shut off his brain to any thought as to what his brother was doing. “Dean, we found a body,” he said solemnly.

“We?”

“Emma and me.”

Dean chuckled and Sam heard a muffled sound on the other line. “’Bout time you made you move, Sammy.”

“Dude, did you even hear me? We found a body!” Sam wanted to throttle his brother through the phone. “Now is _not_ the time for this. Where are you?” As soon as the question escaped his lips, Sam regretted it. The noises on the other line already answered his question, and a lifetime supply of bleach would not ever erase the memory of the giggles and moans from his mind.

“Kinda busy right now, especially since . . . yeah, at her place and –”

“Ugh, stop,” Sam interrupted and shuddered outwardly in revulsion. “Get back to the bar. Now. A body washed up on the beach.”

“Our friends in blue there?”

“Yeah.”

“And are you still there?”

Sam sighed. “Dean, I had to call the cops. They were going to discover it sooner or later.” He watched Emma breeze past time and towards the casino parking lot.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Dean demanded. “Any one of those yahoos could’ve made you, and we’d be in serious trouble!” On the other end of the phone, a woman’s complaining, angry voice sounded and Sam heard his brother mutter something to her.

Sam moved quickly and followed a little distance behind Emma. “But they didn’t,” he pointed out with a frown. “I was careful, okay? Just like I always am. And besides, I really don’t want to tell Emma we’re wanted by the cops.” His eyes followed Emma’s stiff-walking figure and wondered if he would ever be able to be totally honest with another person.

“You better not have told her –”

“Get here. I have news on the case.” Sam disconnected the call before Dean could indulge in Round Two of his verbal bash-fest. He put his phone away and broke into a jog to catch up with Emma. Irritated that their evening had been cut way too short, Sam believed that something had been eating at her. And he wasn’t too sure it was that she had seen a dead body.

 

* * *

 

Emma strode across the empty parking lot and towards the entrance of the bar, hurt and angry and afraid. The emotions threatened to shake her cool exterior, and she knew she could not afford to let any of them show. Not now. Not when she was beginning to feel something for Sam Winchester that she had no business feeling. Handsome man aside, he had a keen eye and seemed very observant. That he was a hunter made him that much more dangerous. Getting close to him would be a mistake piled on top of a mountain of regret she already lived with.

She had gotten involved in this case because of her curiosity, her need to prove the existence of ghosts for her book research. So why not let these two brothers take care of their murdering spirit and move on with her life? Why the need to help them out, when it seemed they didn’t need her assistance?

A firm hand on her shoulder made her stiffen briefly, a flare of fear in her heart. She turned to find Sam behind her, his phone pulled away from his ear, a dark look on his face. “Wait up, will ya?” he asked. “You’re walking like you’re trying out for the Boston marathon.”

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “Don’t see you complaining about something so trivial,” she replied, “especially when you have legs like yours.” She glanced down at his lower extremities directly to emphasize the fact that he was several inches taller than her.

He grinned and they resumed their steady walk back to the bar. “Dean’s going to meet us at Grand Duke’s,” he said casually.

Something in his voice made Emma pause mentally. Sam seemed to be the no-nonsense brother, while Dean had been all about the pursuit of pleasure since they had come into her life. For hunters, that seemed strange to her, especially since she had learned from Jake that most of their kind worked alone and only in dire circumstances used a partner. “You and your brother hunt together often?” she asked and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

Sam gave her a funny look, and she wondered if she had said something wrong. “We hunt together all the time,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged in what she hoped was a casual motion. “No reason. Just thought hunters did this alone, that’s all.”

“A lot of them do, but not me and Dean.”

“Why not?”

He was silent for several minutes, and based on the hard set of his jaw, Emma wondered if he had shut her out completely and would not answer her question. A stab of disappointment shot through her. She knew it was not wise to let Sam Winchester in, but at the same time, she wanted to know everything about him. Just like she hoped he wanted to get to know her better. The problem, in this case, was time: she had the suspicion that the moment this case was solved, the Winchesters would say goodbye and take off, out of town and out of her life. Why that stung a little, she did not want to explore.

“Because we’re brothers, Emma,” he said and surprised her. “We learned to hunt together. It’s part of who we are.”

“It’s a family thing?” she asked quietly and glanced at him. When he nodded very slowly – very carefully, she noted with confusion – she sighed. “I bet it’s nice, having him around.”

That familiar sense of wanting and loneliness washed over her before she could stop the tide from coming in. She did not know why she felt such sorrow, such solitude right now. Unless this had something to do with the fact that she was working with brothers at the moment.

Normally, the few friends she had were single, and they rarely spoke about relatives. Maybe none of her acquaintances had anyone to speak of: her co-workers all kept clear of mentioning them around her. And maybe now she understood why: in the face of being all alone in the world, without any shoulder to lean on, she had deliberately kept that part repressed, hidden, so she would not have to live with the painful knowledge that she had no one on earth. In doing so, however, she had not allowed herself to grieve their loss, though her parents had died several years ago. In a sense, she died a little the day they did, and though they were at peace, she had never sought for nor accepted it.

“Sometimes it is,” Sam muttered and broke her from her thoughts. “There were a few times when I pulled up stakes and left. Like Stanford, for example.”

She blinked and smiled. “You graduated from Stanford?” she asked, a little impressed.

He shook his head. “Not completely. Dean came and got me before I could get into graduate school.” He sucked in a deep breath and looked straight ahead. “Been thinking about finishing… one day.”

“The hunt comes first right now, huh?”

“Something like that.”

With the awkward factor shooting off the chart, Emma decided to not ask her next question, that of having a girlfriend. Such a profound sense of loss had settled around Sam’s demeanor that it looked as if he had literally sunk into himself. For such a big, tall man, he really knew how to hide. For all she knew, he had a girl waiting for him in California, probably pacing the floors right now, worried that he was safe and not fooling around with another girl. Like her.

They rounded the corner and found the Impala parked outside the pub, so there was no more time for casual conversation. One look at the exasperated Dean, leaned against the driver’s side, shirts rumpled like he had dressed in a hurry, and she figured they had interrupted something important.

“Dude! She totally kicked me out for ignoring her while I talked to your sorry ass,” Dean complained.

“Hey, at least I didn’t walk in on you this time,” Sam grunted and glared at his brother.

“What part of ‘perfectly natural’ don’t you get, Sammy?” he asked.

“What part of ‘gouging my eyes out’ don’t _you_ get?” Sam imitated.

Emma watched them, a mix of amusement and curiosity in her eyes. Life on the road was probably never dull, given the amount of familial teasing she had seen from them. Right now she felt like she was watching a verbal tennis match, the snarky comments slipping out with rapid fire shots. She wondered if she would have experienced this with a brother or sister she always wanted. The green haze of jealousy pinged in the back of her mind, but she shoved it aside. No point in looking at what could never be, she thought. Focus on the now.

“So one of the supervisors washed up?” Dean asked and opened the driver’s side door.

Sam nodded. “Patrick Collins, the suspect from the restaurant murder. Managed to get a decent look at the body before the cops came.”

“And?”

“And between the bloating and the partially eaten flesh, I couldn’t tell how he died. Drowning? Some kind of mutilation?” Sam shrugged.

Dean made a face. “Ugh, could’ve lived without that mental image. You think the thing possessing him did the deed?”

Both Emma and Sam nodded immediately. She personally could not think of a better explanation, not unless a human was behind the attacks. “Guys, you think a human’s doing all this?” she asked hesitantly.

Dean gave her a strange look. “Good question, but hell no. All the signs point to demonic possession.”

“But what about the spirits? Wasn’t there some sort of indication that spirits were haunting these places?”

Sam frowned. “Yeah?”

“Not all of those places are haunted, like I said, Sam.” She looked between the guys. “Believe me, I know. That’s been part of my research for this book.”

“Okay, one thing at a time,” Dean interrupted her. “You got the missing people, the murders, the thing possessing the prime suspects, and the spiritual energy at each crime scene. Couldn’t any of this still have waited until morning?”

Emma watched as Sam glared at his brother, like he wanted to sock him in the face for acting like a petulant child. She bit back an amused smile and looked away for a second.

“I’m serious, dude. You got me out of bed for nothing!” Dean protested loudly.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Emma. “Excuse us for a second?” he asked and grabbed Dean’s arm without waiting for an answer. Emma watched them walk several feet away from her and engage in an intense debate.

No doubt Sam had interrupted something that Dean thought more important, she wondered as she watched the oldest Winchester glare at his sibling.

But it was the look on Sam’s face, one of not only concern but defeat that gave her a moment’s pause. She cocked her head a little and watched him nod slowly, then open his mouth and say something in reply to Dean’s obvious anger. They weren’t discussing the case: if anything, their body language communicated a different story altogether, something more personal. Dean’s ramrod posture conflicted with Sam’s slight slouch. They were arguing over something else, and Emma wished she knew what.

However, she had the distinct feeling that, until they got to know her, the Winchesters would only hand out the information she needed to help them with the case.

She felt her heart constrict with an old pang of regret for what she had lost: her family, her connection with the rest of the world. She longed most for what Sam still had; she was tired of being the outsider looking in at what others took for granted. Getting too close to Sam Winchester was dangerous. Better to help them from behind the security of a guarded heart than to get involved.

Emma watched Sam glance at her and smile in a friendly fashion. She returned his gesture and buried her pain deep down inside, where neither he nor the rest of the world would ever find it.


	6. Chapter 6

The Harrison County Morgue was the last place Dean wanted to be. It wasn’t merely the idea of seeing a dead body that made him fume; it was wasting precious moments of his life buried in research.

Sam should be doing this, he thought as he snuck in the back door and grabbed the first white lab coat he saw. _Got better things to go, places to be._ He thought about the blonde he’d left last night and inwardly grimaced. She would’ve shown him a good time. One that he’d never forget – at least, according to her. The validity of the innuendo was irrelevant: the point was he never got a chance to fully test that theory. And when it came to women, he was all about trial and error.

Dean went through the motions to get a sneak peek at the body that had washed up by the Grand Casino the night before: he showed his fake ID, sweet-talked the hot redhead at the desk to let him in, and located the drawer where the victim had been placed.

“This dude had better be in one piece,” he grunted and slid the body out of its resting place. He pulled the sheet back from its face and grimaced. He wondered if seeing a dead body would ever get easier and then realized that he would be one soon enough.

It took him everything he possessed to not swear a blue streak at the thought and instead concentrate on the corpse in front of him.

A quick perusal of the body just reinforced what Sam had overheard the night before: obvious signs that water life found the guy a tasty treat. His eyelids were missing, and his eyes were the kind of milky-white that only death could produce. Additionally, his nose lips and ears had been eaten away by shrimp and plankton. But Dean didn’t see any other signs that something had killed the man. And based on the handy chart the morgue attendant left lying on his desk, he guessed drowning had been the cause of death. He grinned at his intimate knowledge of all things _CSI_. That show really came in handy.

But he still didn’t understand why this Patrick Collins offed himself. Did he really go nuts one night and kill a co-worker? Was it possible that the demon possessing him decided to put him down so it could take a steal another body for a longer joyride?

With a heavy sigh, Dean covered the cadaver. The stink was beginning to churn his stomach, so he shut the drawer so fast that the sheet got caught. None of it made sense, and frankly, that concerned him. The more they dug, the more questions arose. He had a feeling that finding the answer wouldn’t be easy. Demons did horrible things to the innocent people they possessed, but this situation only brought more questions than answers.

By now, Sam probably had several working theories and it was time to find out what they were. Now that he was certain that what they had on their hands was an actual job, Dean felt like his head was finally in the game. The question on his mind was whether Sam’s was completely.

For Dean it was as simple as flipping a switch. He could give into vice right up until the moment they were on a job. But the second a hunter was needed, his baser desires took a backseat. Oh, he might flirt. Might even get a phone number or two. But if he called said number, it was after the job was done. If there was time before he rolled out of town.

He wasn’t sure Sam made that distinction. And how the hell could he really tell? It wasn’t like Sam to notice girls most of the time. That had always been a sticking point with Dean, too.

So Dean had felt a touch of pride when Sam noticed Emma. And maybe he avoided this point as long as possible by stretching out his pre-case indulgence. But as long as it freed up Sam to put a move on the hot teacher, it was all for a good cause.

But now that they were officially on a job, the obvious attraction to Emma made this case more complicated. They didn’t know who she was, not really. She seemed like a strong woman, because their discussion about the case the night before didn’t turn her into a pile of emotional Jello. Or if it did, she refused to show it. And her knowledge of the area might prove useful.

However, she was a bystander. A civilian. Emma’s resources could take them far, but the fact remained that there was no telling whether she could take care of herself if she chose to remain with them. Could she guard against possession? How far would Sam go to keep her safe?

Dean worried about his younger brother, especially now since Sam would be on his own soon.

Deep down inside, Dean was glad to see his brother slowly opening himself up to another person, someone who he could turn to. . . in the future. Hunting and long-term relationships never worked. Just look at Ellen’s family. But maybe it’d be different for Sam. Maybe there was hope.

As he shucked off the lab coat and snuck out the back door, Dean believed that going to Hell wouldn’t be so bad if he knew Sam would have someone in his life after that.

 

* * *

 

With the way Dean drove, the ride to the East Biloxi Public Library was short. He knew Sam and Emma were inside researching information on Pierson Construction’s list of equipment, since they all agreed the spirit was the result of some kind of cursed object that floated among the various sites. He smirked a little and pictured how he would find them sitting across from each other, bent over their own books while their foreheads gently rested against each other.

The thought was so saccharine sweet that it almost nauseated him as he trudged up the steps and opened the trailer door.

The library had been temporarily relocated so that the actual building – located in downtown Biloxi – could be repaired. With everything they were involved in, it seemed like the whole world had been turned upside down. And that did not include the hurricane two years earlier.

He found Sam immediately, hunched over what looked like a computer, though from the looks of things, the youngest Winchester wasn’t too pleased with the machine in front of him. Sam’s mouth moved silently, which meant he was probably talking to the thing in front of him. Dean found himself smiling in spite of the obvious frustration. _I bet he’s wishing he had his laptop_. Clearly the ancient machine was either too slow or too outdated to be useful.

Dean shook his head: the fact he even _knew_ that only emphasized the fact that he had been around his brother too long, that his brother had given him knowledge that only being in such close proximity could bring. . . and that deep down, if he chose to admit it, he would miss it all when he was gone.

Sitting at a nearby table was Emma Boudreaux, her head bent over a book. He put aside his doubts for a moment and looked at the person who had caught his brother’s attention.

She might be a teacher, but she looked like she had walked off the cover of a magazine, with the glossy dark hair and the smooth skin. She rested her head against the palm of her hand as she read intently; she was probably as big a geek as his brother, Dean thought with a smirk. At least she was a sexy geek. Was the public library the place where the geeks romanced each other?

But knowing Sam, he had probably done little to let her know he liked her and probably spent all day staring at a computer screen instead of paying attention to her. Or at least, that was Dean's theory. Not like Sam actually told him what happened on the beach the night before.

Dean wondered why in the world he hadn’t rubbed off on his younger brother when it came to women. If he’d been in Sam’s place, he would have romanced Emma and been done with it. No doubt Emma could give Sam the information they needed over pillow talk. Then there would be no more of this research-as-foreplay game that could easily drag the pretty teacher into the middle of a very dangerous hunt.

Dean knew Emma was reading more on the history of crime scenes, since Sam mentioned that was an angle to pursue when they parted earlier in the day. But he doubted anything in the history of the locations would help them, especially since she had as mentioned as much.

_This is such a waste of time._ He thought longingly of his .45 tucked in the waistband of his jeans and wondered if there was a shooting range around the area. Anything seemed better than all this research, even if Emma was easy on the eyes. He cleared his throat and walked over to the pair.

Emma looked up and blinked a couple times before she smiled. “Look who’s back,” she remarked. “Find anything?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you two got your freak on while I was working.”

Emma made a face and glanced at Sam. “Your brother always this crass?” she asked a little too loudly, which elicited a shushing noise from the librarian at the other end of the trailer.

Dean saw Sam turn and glare at him. “You really don’t want me to answer that,” Sam muttered to her but stood up and stretched. “So?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean said. “That is, if you two are finished playing _Geek Squad_.”

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up. “I saw a diner on the way here that looked quiet,” he whispered hesitantly. Dean saw him glance towards Emma and sighed to himself. Sam wanted Emma to be included in the conversation, which meant the hotel room was probably off-limits.

“Or there’s the hotel,” Dean suggested with a smirk.

“Or there’s my place,” Emma interrupted them and gently closed her book. “Nice and quiet.” She looked hopeful, and Dean felt a smirk cross his lips to keep from making another crass comment about getting Sam to her place where she wanted him.

So he shrugged instead. “That works.”

“We’ll follow you,” Sam said and smiled warmly at Emma, who smiled back at him.

Dean watched their eyes meet and linger over each other and groaned. “If you two are finished?” He didn’t wait for them but strode out the door and towards the Impala. He felt unsettled for some reason, and it had everything to do with the case. Nothing to do with the fact that he’d probably never live to see the kind of affection Sam and Emma were showing each other.

He waited several moments before Sam got in the passenger’s seat and slammed the door shut. Dean felt his angry gaze but ignored it. “What is your deal, dude?” Sam demanded as they pulled behind Emma’s two-door coupe and followed her out of the parking lot.

Dean stared straight ahead and said nothing for a long moment. “Just wondering when you’re going to stop pussy-footing around with Emma and get with the program. We have a job here.”

“You’re kidding me, right? Who was the one that found the job to begin with?”

“Not the point, Sam.”

“Then I’d love to hear what the point _is_ , Dean.”

Another long moment of silence. Dean didn’t know how to begin, nor did he know if Sam’s upstairs brain was in the right place. “You wanna know what I found out or not?” he asked instead.

“What did you find?” Sam sighed.

“They’re calling it a drowning, and short of not seeing any indication that the dude was murdered, it’s possible the cops’ll think he killed himself.”

“Though that’s not the case,” Sam grumbled.

Dean nodded. “You two find something remotely interesting?”

“Just information on this Pierson Construction,” Sam said.

“And?”

“And . . . nothing. They’re ranked in the top ten across the country, known for their safety and efficiency. According to this,” Sam put a small stack of printed material in front of Dean, “they won several governmental contracts to rebuild the Biloxi and Gulfport area not too long after Katrina.”

“Were they the construction company at every site?”

“Looks like.”

“Interesting,” Dean said and frowned. Something still felt off about this case. What they’d found seemed too human to him. Who cared if a single company was able to procure most of the clean-up around here? If it wasn’t for the sulfur and the other readings that they’d found at the murder scenes, he wouldn’t have pegged this for demonic activity. “Does this company use the same machinery at each site?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam replied in what he thought was a weary voice. “Haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Maybe the company’s cursed, or one of the other companies that lost out to them is out for blood,” Dean theorized and glanced over at Sam.

“Might be something we need to check out,” he said, “because the construction company’s the connection.”

Dean nodded in agreement, and a tense silence settled between them. He focused on the road but could hear the wheels in his brother’s head turning. He had a theory. The question was, how long it would take to get him to spit it out. And in the arena of discussion, dealing with Sam lately was about as much fun as getting kicked in the jewels. “So you going to spit out your real theory or not?”

Sam was quiet for a long moment. “I think I’ve found the pattern, Dean, and I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

“Then you would better tell me now, because if you want to let Emma in on it, then I’d like some warning.”

“So you’re taking interest in the case, now that you think Emma wants to be included, too?”

“I know she wants to be included, dude.”

He hesitated for a second, since he was torn between clearing the air between them before getting to Emma’s house or waiting for Sam to get into emo boy mode. But Sam seemed to pick up on his inner battle, instead. “You don’t want her to be a part of this,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t say that,” Dean denied simply. “I just think it’s time to get serious about solving this case.”

“But Emma’s been helpful in the information department. Gives you more time to . . . pursue other things.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s actually why I keep leaving you two alone, so you can explore her other assets.”

Silence from the other side of the car. Dean swore he heard his brother’s teeth grinding and inwardly sighed. He felt like thwacking SAm on the side of the head for being a stupid ass. Instead, he concentrated on the little Honda in front of them. “So? Spill it, Sammy. Emma or the theory. Not like I’m getting any younger.” He smirked at his own inside joke, though he knew Sam found it anything but funny.

“Whatever, dude. It’s got to be a demon possessing the construction supers and having them kill one of their workers. That dude who washed up on the shore last night –“

“Patrick Collins.”

“Yeah, him. He was the first supervisor to turn up missing. I think it’s trying to leave a message.”

Dean frowned and gave Sam a sidelong glance. “What? _I’m a killer, come and get me_?”

“No. It’s for us.”

“Wow,” he said. “That’s a stretch, even for you, Sam. Where did you get that half-baked notion from?”

“Look at how the last two guys were killed: Bob Silver got a serious pounding and was hanged.”

”Yeah?”

“And then this last dude, Justin Heeley. He was decapitated with a power saw.”

“So?”

“So remember when I was transported to Cold Oak, South Dakota? I told you about that girl Lilly and how she’d been hanged from the town windmill. You beheaded a vamp with a power saw when we met Gordon Walker.”

Dean slowed the Impala to a stop for a red light and turned to observe Sam carefully. He had never looked more serious in his life, which bothered Dean on several levels. One, he wondered if the stress of the last several months – of hunting down the demons released and sending them back to Hell – hadn’t taken its toll on Sam’s mind somehow. Add to that the fact that the youngest Winchester had been more than secretive lately in regards to his activities to save Dean, and he had a ticking time bomb in the passenger seat. Definitely not what Dean needed at this point. “Do you know how crazy you sound?” he asked flatly.

“It’s not crazy. Look, you and I both know New Orleans was one of the cities where a large, black cloud was spotted the night the Devil’s Gate opened. They know about us, Dean. Don’t you think some of them have been watching us? Getting to know us so they can do as much damage as possible to… at least one of us?”

Dean winced at the implication. “Nothing’s going to come after you, Sam. Not while I’m still alive.”

“And when you’re dead? What then? Think we’ll exorcise all these damn demons before then?”

Dean did not answer, because he was speechless. Sam had told him what one of the Seven Deadly Sins had called him, the ’Boy King’, the one the Yellow-Eyed Demon wanted as his right-hand man in unleashing hell on earth. At the time, he hadn’t taken it seriously, because the allure of random one-night stands and bacon cheeseburgers had kept him preoccupied.

However, as time passed and their hunts had become increasingly dangerous — especially with the exorcisms – he had begun to see the demons shared a common purpose: getting to know the Winchesters intimately. They were the Captain and Tennile of the demon world, horrible yet popular, the things little baby demons should fear while tucked into their beds of hellfire. “You get that Emma’s gonna think you’re off your rocker?” he asked instead. “Not that you aren’t already a freak, but still. You think she’s going to buy all this?”

“Maybe,” Sam grudgingly admitted after a moment, “but she knows something about the spirit world, and I think she can handle learning about demons. It’s possible she has connections we can use to find out just what kind of demon we’re dealing with.”

“And how are you going to explain all of this to her, Sammy? She’s a nice girl, got legs a mile long, but what makes you think I want you to spill our secrets to a near stranger?” Especially the family secrets and his deal. Deep down, Dean began to wonder if Sam thought Emma could help him find a loophole in the crossroads deal. Though how a ghost researcher could help with a demon deal was beyond Dean.

“Because I trust her, that’s why,” Sam said, almost defiantly. “And she’s the only other person around here on our side who could help us.”

Dean turned the corner, behind Emma’s car, and smirked. “You want to trust a girl who drives a Honda? Didn’t Dad teach you better than that?” Inwardly, he was slightly impressed by how much this girl had gotten under his brother’s skin, to the point where he was willing to trust her with things he never told anyone else. He only wondered if it was a product of Sam’s need to attach himself to someone or brace himself for the despair over Dean’s death.

If Sam was that into her, Dean decided he could hold off on passing judgment on her merits as a hunter. At least until they told her what they were facing. Her reaction would be the best indicator of how useful she was to them against a demon.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Sam retorted and rolled his eyes.

“We should call Bobby,” Dean said. “He’ll have some ideas, I’m sure.”

“No,” Sam replied quickly. “No, he’s busy with other things.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced at his brother. What was going on? he asked himself. What did Bobby and Sam have up their sleeves? Maybe he should call the next moment he had to himself.

The rest of the ride was made in relative silence, and they soon found themselves in front of Emma’s condominium in Long Beach, a lavish yet tasteful looking complex, with lush gardens and professional landscaping. With the beach just across the street, the place looked like heaven.

Dean was the first to get out of the car and whistled softly. “Dude, your girl’s got some money or something.”

“Not really,” Emma said and approached them. “It was my parents. I inherited it.” She shrugged and sent Sam a small smile. “Follow me.” She led them up a stone path, with flowers and small shrubs lining it.

Turning to look at Sam, who had grabbed his duffel bag of weapons and protection from the backseat, Dean gave him a knowing _be cautious_ look and followed Emma into her house. Sam was definitely doing all the talking on this one, though he wished he had enough time to lecture him on the importance of not telling her about his crossroads deal. That was personal.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Sam let Emma in on enough information to give her an idea of what they might be dealing with, without having to divulge all the secrets of Fort Winchester.

Dean had sat back and let Sam do the talking, so that he could gauge her reaction. Sam wanted her attention anyway, and that was fine by him, Dean thought and reclined in the plush rocking chair in Emma’s large living room area. With one wall completely made of glass windows and a sliding glass door, there was little need for lights in the daytime. In fact, with the windows facing the Gulf of Mexico, he had no doubt that she spent as much time as possible in the late afternoons, watching the sun sink beneath the watery horizon.

That would be something Sam would enjoy doing, Dean mused and glanced at the two of them engaged in intense conversation. In fact, he might have been invisible for all that they paid attention to him. Something in that comforted him, especially since he wanted to make sure Sam was taken care of when . . .

Dean bit back that thought and watched a strange look pass over Emma’s face.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re telling me that a demon is possessing these men because . . . it wants one of you?” Emma cocked an eyebrow at Sam and glanced at Dean for a moment.

Sam shook his head. “It’s all a part of the Devil’s Gate opening a few weeks ago.” He saw the blank look on her face and wanted to kick himself for possibly overwhelming her to the point that she might give them their walking papers.

Emma shook her head slowly, then stood up and walked to the wall of windows, her arms crossed over her waist. Dean smirked and glanced at Sam. “Bet she loves that spot,” he whispered, but all he got in response was a scathing look.

She sighed and said nothing for a moment. Sam could almost hear the wheels in her head turning as she fought to get a grasp of what he had told her. “Is there. . . any way to stop it?” she asked finally.

“Exorcism, mostly, though there are a couple rituals we could try out,” Sam said honestly. “Depends on what we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” she asked and turned around to look at him.

“On how powerful the demon,” Dean said. “I mean, we managed to get rid of the seven deadly sins, didn’t we? Talk about fun.”

“That was luck, Dean,” Sam pointed out.

She let out a surprised laugh. “The Seven Deadly Sins were actual demons?”

“The stories we could tell you,” Sam replied with a self-conscious chuckle. “But the point is, we gotta find this demon and get rid of it.” He glanced at Dean. “No telling why it wants us.”

He saw the _yeah, right_ look in Dean’s eyes. “Which is why we need to protect your place, Emma. Demons, they tend to go after anyone in its path, and it can get ugly.”

She cocked her head. “What did you have in mind?” She moved back to her seat; Sam was almost mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips, her graceful glide across the room. For someone who had just learned that two well-known hunters were wanted by a potentially powerful demon, she was taking it pretty well.

“Salting your windows and doors, for starters,” Dean said.

“But that’s only going to work if you never intend to leave your house,” Sam said and looked at his brother. “We’d have to continually fix the broken circle.”

Emma looked pensive, then held up a hand. “Actually, I got it. I’ll call a friend of mine. He can call in a favor to someone who knows something about making hoodoo charms. I’m sure that might do the trick.”

“You have some hoodoo connections?” Sam asked, a prick of curiosity overwhelming him. When Emma nodded, her face placid, he wondered again at how composed she seemed.

Dean smacked his brother on the arm but said nothing, only gave him a warning glance: _Dude, we are not having this conversation again._

Sam frowned and shot his brother a pointed, irritated look.

Emma smiled a little. “I can call him now, if you want. Might take a little while to get in touch with him and get things together.” With that, she left the room for the kitchen.

Dean turned and glared at Sam. “Dude, we are not having this conversation again.”

“Yeah, I heard that the first time you glared at me.”

“Sammy, just . . . stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to save me. There’s nothing you can do to get me out of this deal, and you know it. No hoodoo priest is going to save me. Nothing will, and you have to learn to accept it.”

Sam gave his brother a petulant look. “And what makes you think that when you die and I know you’re in Hell, that I’m going to be able to move on?” He watched as Dean looked away and towards the large windows facing the Gulf and knew he was not willing to try to answer that question. Because Dean had already saved Sam, and living out the rest of his life in peace – with as much booze, women, food, and pleasure as possible – would make an eternity in Hell easier. Sam knew that sat badly with him: the question was whether Dean accepted it. Deep down inside, he knew his brother was not okay with it, but he refused to admit it.

He was about to speak again when Emma walked back into the room. Sam stood up and noticed that, despite her calm demeanor, she was pale. Sam understood she was probably freaked out but liked she maintained her cool exterior. “My friend Eric said he’ll make some calls and get someone over here. Might be a wait, y’all.” She headed back to the window, stood in the same spot as earlier, and said nothing else.

Sam moved next to Emma and, after a moment’s hesitation, touched her shoulder gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She nodded but stared straight ahead. “I know, Sam. It’s just that . . . I study local history, ya know? I might look for hauntings, but demons and possession is a little out of my league.”

He squeezed her shoulder and dropped his hand. “It’s not easy doing this, either, Emma. We try not to… get people involved too much, especially since it can get dangerous.” He felt her hand clasp in his and fought back the urge to take her into his arms, something he had wanted to do the moment he looked into her eyes.

“Danger I think I can handle,” she whispered without looking at him. “Must be lonely, though, driving everywhere, hunting things, without having a home.”

Something in her voice calmed him for a moment. The note of empathy he heard, the soft acknowledgment that she understood a little of what kind of life he lived, humbled him even as it confused him. He knew she had lost her parents, and from what little conversation they’d had, Emma never mentioned other family or siblings. Did she have friends? he wondered. What had she done after her parents died? How old had she been? Why did the simple act of holding his hand make him feel like maybe she was receiving comfort as much as giving it? “It is sometimes. Hard not to be when you’ve got a pain in the ass older brother bossing you around, though.”

“Hey!” Dean called from the other side of the room, having conspicuously moved to give them a little privacy.

“Don’t deny it, dude. You know it’s true.”

Emma chuckled to herself and squeezed his hand. “Must be nice to have a brother around, though. I bet it makes life interesting.”

“Interesting is one way of putting it,” Sam muttered.

“Well, if you two are going to play kissy-face all night, I’m going to let you have at it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and let go of Emma’s hand long enough to look at Dean. “You taking off?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than anything. He knew Dean was not going to stick around to meet the hoodoo priest, or make sure the charms were put in place, or even watch him sink further beneath Emma’s appeal. That last thought rippled through his mind on a wave of pleasure. Part of him wanted her to get under his skin, because he wondered if he would survive if he failed his brother.

“Dude, you think I want to sit here and watch you mack on your girlfriend?”

Emma turned and gave Dean a look. “What makes you think I’ll let him ‘mack’ on me?”

“Oh, save that sweet talk for Sammy, okay?”

Sam rolled his eyes and watched Dean fish the Impala’s keys out of his pocket. With a smile, Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the two of them and walked out the door without another word. Alone, Sam looked down at Emma and smiled uncertainly. “So I guess . . . I’ll wait with you.”

“I’d like that,” she said and offered him a smile. Turning, she walked into the kitchen. “Want something to eat or drink?”

“You asking me to dinner?”

“That’d be great, only I can’t cook worth a damn.”

Sam laughed. “Then how about a drink, and I’ll spring for something to eat. Got any ideas?”

“There’s this place down the road that delivers and makes the best shrimp po boys on the Gulf.”

“I like the sound of that.”

As she brushed past him, Emma paused and gave him a look. “Number’s on the fridge, _cher_.” She winked, though the lightheartedness did not quite reach her eyes. Sam watched her busy herself with getting two bottles of beer, almost as if she needed to find something to do with herself while she tried to process what she had heard. Sam made the call quickly and then sat down at her small island bar, his back slightly slouched.

“So I guess you’re a little freaked out by all this,” he said, trying to alleviate her fears.

“No, I’m fine, really.” She handed him a beer.

He watched the turmoil in her eyes as he studied her. “It’s okay if you are,” he continued. “I mean, I’d be pretty freaked out, too, if this dude I’d just met actually had demons after him.”

Emma sat down next to him, her skin brushed against his arm, and poured herself a glass of beer. “I guess the idea of demons scares me more than I want it to,” she admitted after a minute. “I mean, I’m researching ghosts, the spiritual world. Why shouldn’t demons exist? I grew up around religious people, who taught me about angels and God. Why wouldn’t demons be around, too?”

“Emma.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

She smiled. “I know that, Sam, but if what you said is true… There’s very little that would protect me from a demon. I’ve seen _The Exorcist_. I know what happens.”

“You do know that’s all Hollywood, right? Very little about that was real?”

“Hey, I go with what I know, and I know movies.”

Sam grinned. She had no idea how much she sounded like Dean. “You mean, in all your time studying history, you never came across demonic possession?”

“No. My primary focus was in socio-economic movements in history, especially in the South and this region in particular.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Because I believe the old maxim: _If we don’t study history, we are doomed to repeat it_. That is especially true of social customs and political movements. I mean, look at how something as major as the Civil War shaped the nature of the South and its place in this country. We’re still struggling to recover from that, and yet, as a people, we are just as resilient as those who fought for what they believed in over 160 years ago.”

As Emma spoke, Sam watched the emotions cross her face. She was at once excited and serious about what she said. She honestly believed in what she was doing, that somehow, through teaching others about how things like war and famine and ignoring evils had an impact on the world and created a ripple effect felt even today, she was making a difference. The difference she wanted more than anything else. The geek wanted to pick her brain all night; the man wanted to sweep her into his arms and do things with her that his body now demanded.

When she fell silent, Sam snapped out of his thoughts and saw her watching him with an amused look. “Sorry, you got me thinking.”

“About what?” She leaned against him and nudged her shoulder with his.

Sam flushed a little and looked away. “Just . . . things.” He coughed and took a drink. “So, you said you grew up in a haunted house. What made you choose to help write a book about local hauntings?”

Emma shrugged. “Part of it’s plain old curiosity: why do some spirits haunt? Why are some harmless and why do some wreak havoc?”

“Vengeful, angry spirits are created by violent deaths. Then there’s the unfinished business angle.”

“How so?”

“If a person dies without getting all his affairs in order, then chances are his energy will remain on earth and manifest itself as a spirit.” Sam thought about Dean and sobered. What was he going to do with himself if he could not save Dean? Maybe it was time to ponder that.

“Earth to Sam,” Emma interrupted and waved her hand in front of his eyes.

Starting, Sam turned to her and smiled quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Seems like you have something on your mind.”

“No, not really,” he lied and swiveled his chair around to face her completely. “Maybe I’m thinking about questions to ask you and pick your brain until your friend's friend gets here.”

She smiled. “Maybe I’d let you do that,” she replied with a flirtatious smile


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Emma had just finished their shrimp po boys and were engaging in light, flirtatious conversation when they heard a knock at the door. Emma answered it, and then hugged the man she found there. Based on her greeting, Sam assumed that the friend that she spoke of had arrived. He brought with him a tall, somber looking man Sam figured was the priest who would secure Emma’s home with either spells or charms to ward off evil. They were just in time, too, because Sam realized not too far into dinner that the sexual tension between Emma and him was so tightly wound that her friend would have found them in a more compromising situation had he arrived any later.

And while Sam enjoyed the feel of his body thrumming with desire and acknowledged Emma felt the same draw to him, he also acknowledged that it was a bad idea to get involved with someone in the middle of a case. He knew better and could almost hear Dean’s voice echoing the same sentiment. But once this was over – after they sent this demon packing back to Hell – he intended to pursue this beautiful, intelligent woman with whatever time he had left in town.

Sam stood up when Emma ushered them into the room. He studied them carefully for a moment. Emma’s friend was almost as tall as Sam was, with shaggy blonde hair that fell across his eyes. The other guy was shorter, but Sam sensed power emanating from him; it filled the room like a bad smell. Something was off with the second man, Sam thought and took a few steps closer to Emma.

“Sam, I’d like you to meet my friend, Eric Chambers,” Emma said with a smile when Sam stood next to her.

“Pleasure,” Eric replied and held out a hand. Sam shook it briefly but noticed the look of curiosity from the other man, and Sam imagined the million questions Emma might be asked if there was a chance.

“And this is James,” Emma indicated to the other man standing beside Eric, his sharp eyes taking inventory of the room. _It’s almost like he’s already working a charm,_ Sam thought and frowned. _Or looking for weaknesses in her home._

“Nice to meet you,” Sam replied with a faint smile, but James merely nodded his head in acknowledgment, his focus on the dwelling and not its inhabitants. He moved through the room slowly and Sam watched as he studied the corners, the large window overlooking the Gulf, and the hallway behind the kitchen.

If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say the guy was combing the place and looking for something, rather than trying to judge how best to proceed for the charm work. Sam’s gut clenched tightly; he had a bad feeling about this priest.

“Uh, what’s he doing?” Sam whispered without taking his eyes from James.

It was Eric who answered. “Oh, he likes to check out a place before putting charms down. Wants to make sure it’s already free of spirits and negative energy.”

_Yeah, sure_ , Sam thought and narrowed his eyes on James’ slow, deliberate movement through Emma’s large main room. “ _Christo_ ,” he whispered, just loud enough to warrant the priest’s attention.

But James didn’t flinch or give any indication that he had heard Sam’s attempt at proof that he was possessed. And while he felt Emma’s curious glance, he refused to look away until he was sure.

“Makes sense,” Emma said after a moment. “Why protect a place from evil getting in when you might have some that won’t get out? Kinda defeats the purpose doesn’t it, _cher_?”

Sam felt her gaze settle on him and figured she was speaking to him, but he continued to observe the priest. Unable to shake the strange twist in his stomach, Sam glanced at Emma and smiled at her. The next few hours were going to be long and trying, especially since the air in the room seemed to close in on them. And his instinct told him that the unease would not leave until Emma’s “friends” had.

Which meant after the charm was put into place, Sam would make stick around for awhile to help her relax and reassure her that she was protected from every angle. In the meantime, he would watch the proceedings like a hawk.

 

* * *

 

The next couple hours were spent observing James work a charm that he believed would prevent anything evil from entering Emma’s condo. Once he determined the house was clean of spirits, James grabbed the large duffel bag he had brought with him and got the necessary ingredients together for a “Hot Foot” charm, which made any malevolent would-be intruder hot foot it from her doorstep if it tried to break in. Sam paid attention to the items James used, the incantations, and made a mental note to double check the ingredients to verify what was cast was a protection spell, not a _welcome-to-a-free-for-all_ demonic buffet. Many of the elements used were familiar – the crossroad dirt and Angelica root – but better to check and be certain than leave Emma vulnerable to who knew what.

And as much as Sam wanted to ask James about breaking a crossroads deal, he refrained. He couldn’t shake the feeling that James was not what he appeared to be. Something lurked inside the priest, something Sam couldn’t say was altogether good. Maybe it was because James had seen enough evil, protected enough innocents and demanding patrons, to have taken on the belief that evil was everywhere and always overpowered good. Sam understood that, especially considering the large demonic hoard hunters everywhere were trying to destroy at all costs.

Fortunately, James wasn’t the kind of guy to stay and chat once he finished a job. Kind of like Dean in a sense, Sam thought and watched Emma wish both men a good night and shut the door after they left.

But Sam couldn’t shake the idea that something was off with the hoodoo priest. What was more, he noticed Eric spend most of the time watching Emma. It made Sam wonder if she had a secret admirer or had been involved with this guy in the past. _Might explain the connection she had with hoodoo practitioners._ Sam sat down on the sofa and looked back at her, one arm slung over the back.

The uncertainty in the room developed into awkward tension, the kind that created chasms and ruined blossoming friendships. Sam stared at Emma as she sat down on the couch next to him, the opposite side so there was space between them. He let his hand fall onto his leg.

“So I guess that’s it,” she said, her attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. “I guess this place is safe.”

“It will be after we’ve lined your windows and doors with salt,” he replied and gazed at her intently.

She shifted on the couch. “But I thought you said that the line would always be broken with the door opening.”

“Not if I teach you how to repair it.”

Sam noticed Emma’s keen gaze on his face, as if searching for the answer to an unspoken question. After several moments, she finally spoke. “And I’m guessing there’s just a little more to it than that.”

Sam nodded and took a deep breath. “Emma, I don’t trust your friend. Or that dude claiming to be a hoodoo priest.”

“Why not? They’re harmless enough.”

“Sure, in that _psycho killer slash stalker_ kind of way.”

“Sam, what are you talking about?”

“Come on, Emma. Eric spent most of the time watching you like a hawk, while James did just about everything he could do to check out exactly what you have in your apartment.”

A spluttering laugh escaped her lips. “Are you . . .? You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“So Dean keeps telling me.”

“Sam.” Emma closed the space between them, and Sam watched her hand settle over his on his knee. “Eric’s just a friend. And sure, I know he likes me and has done his fair share of making passes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. “Basically he’s a creep, then.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“So why keep him around?”

“Because he’s one of my only connections to the hoodoo community, and as I’ve just figured out, that can come in handy at times.”

“But what about this James dude?” he persisted and interlaced their fingers. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Not a whole lot, unfortunately. I’ve only met him one other time.”

“And when was that?”

“Through a meeting at the university. He was a guest speaker at a seminar I attended about how local and traditional religions have blended to create the Gulf Coast’s rich and unique history.”

“And he didn’t seem . . . shady to you?”

“Not really. I mean, sure, he’s intense, but not in a bad way.” She cocked her head and Sam saw the curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Why the twenty questions game? What do you suspect?”

“Nothing.” But he broke eye contact with her and stood up. He found the duffel bag he add taken out of the Impala and ruffled through its contents silently.

“You’re jealous.”

“What? No I’m not,” Sam protested quietly and paused to glance back at her. He ignored his instinct telling him otherwise and pulled out the large container of rock salt from his bag. Emma smiled in response, almost happily, Sam realized. The sight made other parts of him tighten, which he also ignored. “You stay put. I’m going to line your windows and doors.”

“I’ll help you,” she offered and got up off the couch. Her hips swayed gently to and fro as she walked closer to him.

Sam heard his heart thudding frantically in his chest and swallowed hard. “Okay. It’s really simple. Why don’t you take your room and the guest room, and I’ll line everything else.”

“Scared to go into my bedroom?” Emma cajoled lightly and winked at him.

_No, I’m looking forward to it_ , he thought and felt his lips curl into a shy smile. His hazel eyes met her dark ones – eyes filled with intention – and wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

But because they had work to do, Sam put such thoughts out of his head. Better to think with the upstairs brain now and survive the case. At least that way, Dean wouldn’t kill him for slipping up. “And so you’ll really be protected, just in case –”

“– James is evil and out to get me?” Emma interrupted him.

“Something like that.”

Emma shook her head, and Sam could tell she was trying to conceal a laughing smile. “Okay. Works for me. I want to be safe as houses, so maybe you could stick around for awhile and make sure the charm’s in place?”

Sam grinned at the blatant attempt to keep him around and nodded his agreement. “I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

“Come on, Emma. How can you like this movie?” Sam rolled his eyes playfully and curled his arm around her shoulder to scoot her closer to him. Their eyes were glued to the television as they sat together on her plush apartment couch and watched _The Sixth Sense_ , her favorite movie, she had proclaimed. He had assumed the smirk on her face at his earlier question held more innuendo than mischief. Something new he’d learned about her, he realized.

She snorted and nudged him in the ribs lightly. “How can you not like it?” she asked and watched with a smile.

“With the kind of work Dean and I do? It’s a little silly, to be honest.”

“Come on! The freezing cold spots? You see the way she’s shivering, poor thing?”

“Yeah, that’s Hollywood’s version of a spirit presence.”

She turned away from Bruce Willis and his cathartic moment of realizing that he was dead to gaze up at Sam. “I thought you said you never saw this before.”

He shrugged and grinned a little. “Hey, like you said, angry and sad spirits tend to suck up the energy around them, which leaves a residual emptiness in the surrounding area. The fact that this dude is totally being ignored? And the fact that the wife is always wearing sweaters and looking back over her shoulder?”

“Figures. I’m watching it for the entertainment value and you’re analyzing every movement, scene, and facial expression. I bet you even have a theory on why the director uses the color red so much.”

Sam shrugged. “Symbolizes all the blood lost when Bruce Willis’ character died. Simple as that.”

Sighing, yet obviously amused, Emma leaned her head against Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks, now I’ll never be able to watch this movie again, _cher_. Not without you to poke fun at, anyway.”

The movie faded away for Sam at that moment as he glanced sideways at the woman in his arms and smiled. He enjoyed hearing her speak, the soft Southern accent always in his mind soothing him during the harder moments of this case. She made him forget his frustration towards Dean, his anger at the loss he would sustain in less than a year. He wondered at how real she seemed, how accepting she was of who he was – part hunter, part researcher, completely geek-like. “What does that mean?” he asked and pulled gently at a strand of long, black hair.

“What does what mean?” she asked softly.

“ _Cher_.” He tried to pronounce it correctly, though his obvious lack of accent made it sound more like the famous yet tacky singer’s name. “What’s it mean? I assume it‘s a Louisiana thing.”

“Yeah, it is.” She moved off his shoulder and looked up at him. Sam noted the blush staining her cheeks and smiled. “It’s a pet name, of sorts.”

“For. . ?” Sam raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

She swallowed hard and looked down at her hand resting against his chest. “'My dear'.”

Sam gave her a funny look, wondering why in the world she was calling him an animal that people actually kill for food, before it hit him what she meant. He cupped her chin and made her look at him. “But you use that all the time. Does that mean anything?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it quickly, and then opened it again. “Yes and no. I mean, I grew up listening to my family say that to each other, so I reckon it’s. . . ya know. . . a term of endearment?”

Sam felt his heart soften as his body grew hard at her hesitant words. Without saying anything, he leaned into her and kissed her. His other arm pulled her on top of him so he could have better access to her full mouth.

Emma let out a surprised squeal as she landed firmly on Sam’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. Her thighs spread wide as she pressed herself into the muscled warmth of his chest, and she played with his hair along the nape of his neck. Her body went limp as she melted into their mutual desire.

Sam remotely heard muted sounds of the movie ending, the music swelling to its closing beat. When she pulled back and looked at him, he could see her dark eyes alight with desire. “Definitely can’t watch this movie anymore without you,” she whispered with a smile.

Sam laughed deep in his chest, a soft rumbling noise. “Especially since it’s just a silly, inaccurate movie.”

She pinched him and felt his body jolt in response. “Says you,” she insisted playfully and moved suggestively in his lap. “I can think of better things than watching movies while we wait to see if the spell works, sugar.”

Sam groaned in response to her body grinding against his. “God, yes.” Grasping her by the waist, Sam kissed her again, his answer of agreement on her lips. They shared an intense moment of passion, lips and tongues meeting in heated urgency. The movie picture faded into black as Sam’s focus was entirely on the way Emma’s body fit against his, how she responded to his kisses eagerly. How the feel of her silken hair was like touching heaven.

His hands slipped beneath her shirt to touch her skin, soft and pliant. Hot to the touch and yet shivering with her desire. His fingers left goosebumps, and Sam heard her encouraging moans against his lips. In response, she rubbed her hands against his muscular chest and gripped his top layer of clothing like she wanted to rip it off him. His body demanded satisfaction in her, and Sam knew Emma wanted him just as badly.

But he broke the kiss when his upstairs brain kicked in and told him that this wasn’t the time, that the case came first. Before his needs and desires. _Work first, play later_ , it said. And with a demon lurking about, possessing a still-faceless innocent, Sam needed his wits about him. “No, Emma, wait,” he rasped and touched her cheeks. When he saw her crestfallen face, he continued quickly. “Now’s not a good time for this.”

She looked away and down, and Sam knew he had hurt her feelings. He sighed and gently kissed the tender part of her earlobe. “It’s not like that. I want this, very much.”

“But?” she queried gently, her eyes averted.

“But . . . I have something to give you,” Sam whispered. He gathered her into his arms and held her close. “It’s not much, but I think you might need it.”

She looked back at him, and her surprise was evident. Sam wondered if she had expected him to say something else completely. He brushed stray tendrils of hair off her face and smiled.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

He kissed her quickly. “Your priest friend might’ve set that charm, but that’ll only work when you’re at home. I’ve got an anti-possession charm for you to keep on you.” He reached up and stroked her long hair, marveled at how the tresses curled around his hand as they curled around her shoulder. He had never seen a sexier sight.

A dark, worried look passed over her face. “Sam, what aren’t you telling me?” she whispered and cupped his cheek.

“Emma, there’s a reason I’m here tonight.”

“Besides a movie and hot make-out session?” The ghost of a smile touched her lips.

He flushed at her implication. “Yes – I mean, I hadn’t intended for – I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

“Sam –“

“I think the demon that’s been killing was here today.”

Her body stiffened with fear; Sam felt her curl into his chest as though to hide away from what he needed to tell her. “What?” she whispered uncertainly.

He swallowed hard and spoke slowly as he considered how best to continue. “I think it’s your priest friend, James. I think it’s possessed him.”

Emma pulled back to look Sam squarely in the eyes. “That’s impossible,” she said. “I was there, remember? I saw James, watched him. He didn’t seem any different to me.”

“But you yourself said you’d only met him one other time. How could you know if he was acting like himself?”

“There’s no way. Eric would’ve told me,” she protested.

“ _He_ might not even know,” Sam said and put his hand to her cheek. “Demons, they’re sneaky. They can act just like the person they possess because they have access to all their memories and experiences. They literally know the person inside out.” He thought briefly of the time Meg had possessed his body and how long it had taken Dean to figure it out.

“But . . . why would it possess someone I know?” she asked, her face no longer flushed with desire. Sam could see the terror in her eyes, though she once again chose not to show it.

Sam winced outwardly at her innocent question. She didn’t know the whole story: there was no way Emma could understand what he and Dean did for a living. Not really. How could she understand that the demons now crawling the earth were looking for Sam, because he was supposed to be the leader of that army of darkness? Who was to say this demon wasn’t one of them?

“Because . . . demons know us,” he continued and rested his head against the back of the couch. “I think it’s trying to get my attention. Mine and Dean’s.”

Emma gazed at him evenly, though it took her several moments to say anything. “Why?”

Realization dawned on Sam like the sun. This was the very thing Dean had warned him about. Getting too involved, to the point where the Winchester Family Secrets were exposed for all to see. The last place you should be during a hunt because it made you vulnerable to attack of any kind. Sam was sorely tempted to tell Emma everything he knew, from the real reason they were in town, to his supposed destiny that a now dead yellow-eyed demon set into motion twenty-three years earlier. “I wish I could tell you, Emma, but . . . I can’t. Not right now.”

 

* * *

 

Emma wished she was the kind of person who was overly dramatic. It would have been so much simpler, fainting dead away into this man’s arms so she didn’t have to deal with the rejection, or screaming at him like a banshee to chase him out of her life so she could hole herself up and go back to her normal, boring life.

But she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature. So she buried the pain of Sam’s words, the figurative door that had been slammed shut to keep her out. Maybe he had a damn good reason for putting her at arm’s distance; maybe the loneliness and tragedy of his life told him it was better to remain at a distance.

For the life of her, Emma couldn’t find the words to speak. Her throat constricted to the point she thought she might choke. The combination of knowing James might be possessed and Sam’s deliberate attempt to keep her in her place threatened to overwhelm her. She waited a minute to mentally cue the dramatic angsty music in her head, and when that didn't happen, shook her head and spoke the words. “It’s okay, Sam. I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Emma. I am. I wish I wasn’t . . . who I am,” he began.

Emma put a hand over his mouth, touched his soft, lush lips with her finger, and halted whatever he was about to say. “Don’t say that,” she whispered and ignored the painful beating of her heart. “I like who you are, and I’m sure you have . . . your reasons for keeping me at a distance.” She drew patterns over his lips and face as she spoke, her gaze following her fingers. It seemed to help lighten the tension that had settled between them. “But I can’t believe James is possessed.”

“Believe it or not. I know he is.” His lips brushed against the pads of her fingertips, and she shivered at the contact.

“How do you know?”

“He gave off a really strange vibe, so I used a simple test to determine possession.”

Sam took her hands from his face and quickly explained to her what he had done. Emma was confused, however, since that seemed to signify nothing. “But if he didn’t acknowledge the word, didn’t flinch of anything, then how do you know he’s possessed?”

“There are demons so powerful that they can guard against the name of God and holy water.” Sam shrugged a little, and from the closed look in his eyes, Emma guessed that he had experience with this sort of thing before.

And maybe because of that, she should trust what he said. “But . . . if it’s a really powerful demon, then . . . how are we going to . . .?” she asked as the severity of their position set in. If James was possessed, if Sam’s suspicions were correct, what did that mean for her? How were they going to rid themselves of something so powerful it could mask itself? If Sam had done this before, what had he and his brother done?

Sam looked startled for a second. “I wish I knew,” he said and looked as forlorn as a puppy in a kennel. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I never meant for you to get in –”

“Sam, don’t.” Emma put a firm hand on his chest and refused to acknowledge the dread curling heavy in her stomach. “I got myself into this mess, and we’ll get out of it in one piece together. Right?” She hoped her words sounded as sure as she hoped, because at the moment, the only thing she wanted to do was hide herself in those few pleasurable moments, when mutual desire threatened to take her to places she thought long dead.

Sam took her hands and kissed the palms. She trembled at the small, yet significant act and mustered a smile against his kindness. “That’s why you need the protection,” he whispered against her hands, “because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Emma nodded, a violent bob that suggested she was just as scared as he was of the future. “You got it with ya, _cher_?” she asked and rubbed her finger against his lips.

He groaned. “Yes, but if you keep doing that . . .”

“What? You gonna get me or something?” she whispered with a wicked grin. Emma was aware of her precarious position in his lap and wished to pick up where they left off. Anything to block out the anxiety vibrating through her over what tomorrow would bring.

But all thought fled from her when Sam grabbed her head and pushed her mouth to his. Emma pressed against his hard, well-muscled chest and yearned to see what she had only felt until now. Hopefully, that time would come. In the meantime, she broke their kiss and smiled at him. “Okay, I get it. I’ve got it coming to me. Can I have the charm first?”

 

* * *

 

Sam shut the door to his and Dean’s hotel room with a heavy sigh and leaned against it momentarily. Emma was safe for the time-being: she wielded the anti-possession charm, an extra one he picked up the last time he saw Bobby. And as much as he wanted to stay the rest of the night with her, Sam feared getting involved with Emma on a sexual level at this point was dangerous.

But he couldn’t help it. He wanted her badly enough to protect her from the very same thing he longed to tell her: his secrets, his search to save Dean's soul, his loneliness and anger over the idea of losing his brother. His body throbbed with unstated desire, and despite his best efforts, he knew his mind was losing to his body and heart.

He wanted Emma Boudreaux around. Leaving her when this job was finished ranked high on his "Top 5 List of the Hardest Things I Have Ever Done". Pulling himself upright again, he looked around and frowned because Dean wasn’t there. Maybe he had gone to get something to eat, Sam thought and went through the checklist of security measures: making sure his tote of weapons remained hidden under the bed, the maids hadn’t cleaned the room, the salt lines on the window were unbroken.

Yet, with everything in place, Sam felt a presence in the room as he stepped further into it, an extreme uneasiness that gave him pause. _Dean, where the hell are you?!_

“You’d be surprised how good I am at certain things,” a low, growling voice stated behind him suddenly. Sam turned to see the figure of a man appear, almost as though it had materialized from the black corner of the room. The form was familiar, and Sam was struck by the possibility that he’d been right: James was possessed by the demon who had killed all those construction workers. The man’s hair covered parts of his face, like his eyes and cheekbones. And if it hadn’t been for the demonic twist of the mouth, that careless confidence in his voice, Sam might have mistaken him for a common burglar. Almost.

He reached for his vial of holy water and held it out in front of him. “But being a demon and all, there are _some_ things you can’t do,” he replied firmly.

The man heaved a dramatic sigh and shook his head. “Sammy, I’d have thought you had it all figured out by now. Especially with that pathetic attempt at revealing who I really was in front of your girlfriend.” He twirled around in a similar fashion to a beauty pageant. Like Sam should be impressed with the body it had inhabited.

“Hey, had to take a chance.”

The demon made a tisking noise and took a step towards him. “Now why would you want to expose me like that? You trying to get your woman killed?”

“Don’t know who you mean, but you’re starting to bore me.” He shot holy water out of his flask and watched the thing in front of him grimace with what Sam imagined was pain. The only problem was, no smoke curled off James’s body, nor did the demon inside appear to be suffering. “Who are you?” he whispered, shocked.

“Ow, Sammy, that really hurt me,” it mocked. “What you wanna go and do something like that for?”

“Who are you?” Another flick of the wrist, and another dose of holy water shot from its container. This time, however, the thing inside James had anticipated Sam’s move and managed to dodge most of the holy water itself. A blood-curdling smile graced the host’s lips as it moved closer to Sam.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” it said and, with its eyes turned inky black, nodded its head and sent Sam sprawling against the wall. Sam felt his head connect hard with the wall and saw stars. However, he did not fall: in fact, his feet weren’t even touching the floor. Trying to move his limbs, he found himself unable to reach out for anything. His body was paralyzed, stuck to the wall like Velcro. And the demon held him there without so much as a gesture or a sign.

A brief moment of terror filled with before he stuffed it inside. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful. Watching it at Emma’s place had proven that. And from the gleam of triumph in the eyes, it had done exactly what it anticipated: it caught Sam Winchester unawares, without Dean around, unprepared and distracted. Thinking about a woman when he should have been focused on the case. He blinked and stared as James walked up to him and smirked.

“Yeah, let all that guilt and anger and fear bubble to the surface,” it crooned with glee. “That’s the only way you’ll learn.”

“Learn. . . what?” he rasped and tried to lash out with his hand. Nothing happened.

“Learn how to fulfill your destiny set in motion when Azazel bled on you.”

Numbness overtook the fear, and Sam went back in his mind to Cold Oak and Yellow Eyes. That had not been a trick of the light, the dream when the demon took him back to the night his mother was murdered. _Better than mother’s milk_ , it had said. He focused on the present and looked at the being standing before him. As if it could read his mind, the demon laughed, its host’s voice resounding in the small room.

“Ah, that Yellow Eyed Demon sure knew how to play your family, didn’t he?” it smirked. “First it took Mommy because she interrupted him, then gleefully took Daddy. Now _Azazel_ might be dead – and good riddance, I say – but his buddy has Dean’s soul. That leaves you for the rest of us.”

“What, the screaming demon horde that got out of the Devil’s Gate? I thought you were nothing but a brood of wandering, leaderless things that want to wreak havoc.”

“Ah, but we’re not leaderless anymore, Sammy. That’s where you come in. You’re the one we’re all waiting for. The maiming and killing? Just a part of the demon package, you see. All it takes is just the right twist of the screw, and you’re ours.”

Sam managed to move his hand off the wall, though it was a struggle to maintain because of the force holding him as a puppet on imaginary strings. His legs felt like jelly, his mind racing in a million different directions because, without anything to grab, he was done for if this demon decided to take his life.

“See, I don’t want your life, Sam,” the demon inside James replied in response to his thoughts. “I want your allegiance.”

“Who are you?” he choked out.

“Your worst nightmare if you don’t do as I say.” It got in Sam’s face and smiled maniacally. “Because if you don’t do what I want, don’t follow the clues to Alice’s rabbit hole, then everyone you love is going to die a long, slow, horrible, painful death.”

Sam winced at the implication inwardly, though his face remained stoic. “Dean’s already going to do that. There isn’t anyone else you can torture, so take your best shot.”

“On Emma? With pleasure,” James cackled.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve been studying you, Sammy. Been watching you with her, in that bar, at the estate. That night on the beach with her. Don’t you care about her?”

“The name’s Sam.”

“Right. _Sam_. How could I forget? Only Dean calls you Sammy. My bad. But getting back to Emma.”

“Leave her out of this,” he snapped and glared at the priest in front of him.

“What, and ruin my fun? Hell no.”

The door swung open, and Dean stepped in, a six-pack and a bag of food in his hand. Sam stiffened and tried to reach out to shove James back, but he couldn’t. The slight movement seemed to have caught Dean’s attention, though, because he dropped what was in his hands and went for his gun.

Unfortunately, the demon anticipated his brother’s action because Sam watched as Dean was tossed across the room like a limp rag. He landed on the side of one of the beds and fell onto the floor. A string of curses and swearing shot out of Dean’s mouth, but the demon only laughed in response.

“Dean, you think I’m going to let you near me? I think not.” Before Dean could make another move, it looked once more at Sam and laughed. “See ya soon . . . Sammy.” With a nod of the head, the thing possessing James walked out the door and disappeared into the night. Sam slid down the wall quickly and hit the floor with a loud thump.

His head felt like it would explode into a million fragments of blinding pain. He groaned as he struggled to his feet. He saw a hand pull him up onto his feet, and his eyes focused on his older brother’s worried face.

“Dude, you okay?”

Sam nodded but said nothing. He put his hands against his head to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.

Sucking in an irritated breath, Dean grabbed a large container of rocksalt from beside his bed and salted the door and window. “What the hell happened?” he demanded and turned around to gaze at Sam firmly.

“I don’t know,” he said and shook his head gently. “I just walked in and found a demon waiting for me.”

“And how did it get in here?”

“I don’t know. Must’ve taken advantage of you being gone or something.” He tensed and looked at Dean. “Dean, I think we’re in over our heads this time.”

Dean looked confused, despite the worry lines that marred his brow. “No kidding, Captain Obvious. What gave that away?”

“I’m serious.” Sam found a seat on the edge of his bed and quickly relayed the brief conversation with the demon. And as he watched the look of shock and anger spread across Dean’s face, Sam knew that whatever sleep he hoped to get tonight was gone. In the morning, they would check in on Emma and then try to find James.


	8. Chapter 8

The insistent knocking was a sledgehammer in her ears and startled Emma from a deep slumber. Confused and afraid for a split second, wondering whether something terrible was trying to get inside, she rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. 4 AM. The banging continued unabated, so Emma got out of bed, grabbed her cotton bathrobe, and skirted down the hall. The peephole showed Sam and Dean Winchester on the opposite side, both wearing grim expressions. She sighed in relief and ignored the voice in her head that said they probably came bearing bad news.

Emma opened the door and stood back to let them in. “What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed by their sudden appearance on her doorstep. “Aren’t y’all about four hours early?”

“Not when there’s been a new development,” Sam interrupted her and shut the door behind him. “Is the spell still in place? Salt lines solid?” He and Dean both dropped duffel bags on the floor.

Her arms wrapped around her stomach, an unconscious protective movement. She dead-bolted the door and then turned to find both Winchesters moving through all the rooms in her residence. No doubt they were searching for some kind of weakness in the protective measures they had taken earlier.

Sam’s comment sounded cryptic, which made her wonder who exactly he was talking about. Emma opened her mouth to ask him, but based on the intent look of concentration on his face, she decided to wait until the inspection was finished. She tied her robe belt tighter and sat down on the couch.

Several minutes passed before the brothers sat down with her: Sam next to her and Dean in the chair by the window. A myriad of questions raced through her mind: _What’s going on? What happened that made you come back here so quickly? What’s this development?_ “Seriously, you two are freaking me out,” she said finally. “What’s going on?”

“We need to know everything about your priest friend,” Dean said, his face frank with seriousness.

Emma felt her forehead crinkle with confusion. “I already told Sam everything earlier: I really don’t know him well.”

“Then would your other friend . . . _Eric?_ . . . know more about him?” Sam asked.

“I guess so,” Emma said. She didn’t like the insinuation in Sam’s voice, the hint of jealousy masked underneath.

“How do you know _Eric_?” Sam asked and turned on the couch so his entire body faced her. She watched him lean back on the cushions and swallowed hard at the image he portrayed. His massive body dwarfed her furniture, and she guessed if there had been room, he’d have sprawled his long legs out.

She snapped her thoughts towards answering Sam’s question. “He works with me, a part-time professor of American History. He’s also the guy who helped renew my interest in the supernatural and the occult.”

“So this _friend_ is big into hoodoo?” Sam asked.

She nodded and frowned. “He’s created a couple regional online websites for those who want to learn more and get involved. They’re highly secret and require everything from a yearly membership to practically your first child’s blood.” Though the last part of her statement intended to be a joke, Emma winced at the mere thought. Blood was never something you played around with. That much she knew.

But their questions seemed deliberately vague: she knew when people concealed information. “What aren’t y’all telling me?” she asked and looked from Dean to Sam. Her intense gaze settled on Sam patiently.

Sam looked conflicted, as evidenced by the fact that his eyes shifted sideways to glance at Dean. Some kind of silent communication passed between them before he answered. “James is possessed. I have evidence.”

Emma blinked in surprise. “What? With the demon that . . . ?”

“With the one behind the construction murders.”

“H-How do you know? I mean, did it . . .” Emma fought for words but couldn’t muster the ability to finish her question. She felt her body go cold at the idea that a demon might have been in her house earlier that night. That maybe somehow it managed to keep a loophole in the spell cast so it could take advantage of her.

“It visited me, Emma,” Sam said and reached out to touch her with a reassuring hand. “After I left you, it showed up wearing James’s body.”

“What did . . . James, I mean . . . what did it want, Sam?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Dean open his mouth but shut it when he looked at Sam. Dean’s face was unreadable and told her that a dangerous meeting had taken place. While she was sleeping, Sam and his brother might have been killed. A funny feeling settled in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

“What demons always want: to scare and maim.” His face seemed to suggest it wanted other things, but Emma figured Sam wasn’t going to tell her just yet.

She sucked in a breath and bit down on her lip. “Okay, so where do we go from here?”

“We’ve got find James,” Dean said. “Find him and exorcise the damn thing. Send that bitch back to Hell.”

Emma winced at the anger she heard. “I wish I could help y’all with that, but aside from the phone book, I wouldn’t know where to look.”

“Are you a part of that website Eric started?” Sam asked.

“Yes. He insisted I get a membership. Even paid for the first year.”

“Then let’s start there. Maybe James is listed with something else besides the public address. Maybe a safehouse of sorts to go to when he gets into trouble?” Sam asked and looked back at Dean.

“That doesn’t mean he’s got a criminal record,” Emma pointed out.

Dean grinned. “Everyone hides something.” He stood up and headed for the door. “Oh, and by the way, we’re gonna hole up with you until this case is solved . . . maybe longer, if you and Sam can’t keep your hands off each other.”

Emma watched as Sam opened his mouth in protest, but only glared at the oldest Winchester as he headed for the kitchen to raid Emma’s refrigerator. “Sorry, Emma,” Sam whispered and squeezed her hand. “My brother’s a bit invasive at times.”

Emma covered his hand with hers and smiled. “Don’t worry. I think I can handle the company.” And while sleeping arrangements would be interesting at best, she figured they would cross that bridge when they got there. For the moment, they had more important things to worry about.

 

* * *

 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and shut his laptop with a quiet thump. Several hours had passed since he and Dean showed up unannounced at Emma’s home, and they had spent it in search and study. Emma managed to wrangle up some contact information from her “members only” website on James Kingly and gave numbers to Dean. The oldest Winchester spent the morning alternately flirting with the women or conning the men who answered the phone for an address or tracking coordinates to locate the mysterious hoodoo priest.

And from the scowl on Dean’s face, Sam guessed his brother hadn’t gotten as lucky – or as far – as originally intended.

Sam, on the other hand, had taken the opportunity to revisit the connection behind the restless spirits that haunted each murder site. It couldn’t be mere coincidence that the same construction company was involved. The question that lingered was what connected the spirit to the sites, and were they dealing with multiple hauntings?

While Emma helped Dean track down James, Sam hit his laptop with all the intensity of a category five hurricane, determined that the answer lay somewhere within the construction company’s website and information about each site.

So far he had come up with very little, save for information on the head supervisor, David Welsh, the man who was overseeing each physical location. While his webpage bio stressed his professional prowess as a leader and developer, Sam noted that in a few candid pictures of him on development sites, Mr. Welsh always carried an old, beaten-up toolbox.

The toolbox wasn’t anything special: the only thing that stood out was the fact that it looked like it was fifty or sixty years old. And it seemed to be with its owner in every picture Sam found. Intrigued, Sam wondered what was so important about this ancient container. Didn’t most head supervisors have better things to cart around?

Maybe it — or something inside it, was the key to the spirit’s presence. It was a theory to start with. Anything to keep his mind on solving the case as efficiently as possible. Better than pondering how well he intended to get to know Emma once this was over.

Emma was a research geek, through and through. He could tell she relished the idea of sinking her teeth into what could become an online love tryst with Google. He had purposely positioned himself on Emma’s couch so he could watch her over as she worked at her desktop computer on the other side of the room.

With her hair pulled back into a ponytail, clad in jeans and a t-shirt, Emma was a simple beauty. Sam lingered over the long, elegant curve of her neck as she tilted her head to the side, as in deep thought. A small smile escaped his lips as he thought about kissing that area of silken skin.

But the occasional knowing smirk or snorting noise from Dean’s direction kept Sam on track. Better to pretend that he hadn’t heard anything. That way, Dean couldn’t take the opportunity to embarrass Sam in front of Emma. _I should be used to that_ , he thought and ran his finger across the laptop cover. _He’s been doing that all my life._

“Well, I’m at a dead-end,” Sam heard Emma exclaim and looked up at her. She’d swiveled around in her office chair and put her hands over her head in a gentle stretch. Sam’s eyes automatically strayed down her body, and he fought the urge to act on the thoughts she generated in his head. “Please tell me y’all have found something.”

“Yeah, that Carla Bensen is a busty blonde who has a thing for leather,” Dean said from his position at the kitchen table, a wicked smirk on his face.

Sam rolled his eyes and put his computer aside. “Who the hell is that?” he asked. “Or do I even want to know?”

“She’s the chick that James listed as an emergency contact,” Emma explained and crossed her arms.

“Sounds like he used her for emergencies, all right,” Dean said. “She said he was always calling her late at night for long bouts of dirty phone sex.”

“Wow, you really put the _too_ in _Too Much Information_ ,” Emma replied with a wry grin. She cast an amused glance at Sam, which he met and held for a moment before he turned back to his brother.

“It’s why I’m so much fun to be around,” Dean smirked and put his phone back into his jeans pocket.

“Great, getting back to what you found?” Sam shot his brother an annoyed look.

“Nothing. No one’s heard from James. He hasn’t been home since he and that other dude . . .”

“Eric?” Emma prompted.

“Yeah, since they left for your place yesterday. Looks like our guy’s skipped town.”

Sam nodded and sighed. “Or he’s hiding someplace where no one’ll find him.” _Like us_. He ground his teeth in irritation.

Dean’s smirk only got bigger. “Sam, you have something you’d like to share? Like how long I need to be out hunting for James while you and Emma –”

“Finish that question and I will end you,” Sam warned and pointed at Dean.

“No, you’re supposed to end _her_ , Sammy.”

“Guys, enough. Please,” Emma interrupted and crossed her arms. “I’m standing right here in the room.”

Sam cleared his throat and felt the heat rising to his cheeks. He noticed while Emma tried to be annoyed with Dean’s blatant attempts to nose into Sam’s sex life, she barely concealed her amusement. Mentally, he wished Dean came with a mute button. “I’ve been looking through Pierson Construction’s website –”

“Which means he’s probably gotten into something he shouldn’t,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam silenced Dean with an irritated look. “Dude, do you mind? I think I might have found the haunted object.”

“So it is something related to all the murder sites?” Emma asked.

“It looks that way. Only problem is, I don’t exactly know where the object is.”

“Uh, why the hell not, Sam?”

“Because it all depends on where David Welsh left it.”

“Who the hell is David Welsh?” Dean asked.

“He’s one of the lead supervisors for Pierson Construction. For this area, anyway. He’s overseeing reconstruction operations for each of the hauntings,” Sam explained.

“And what does he have to do with the spirit?” Emma asked.

“It’s not him, exactly.” Sam paused and bit his lip. Maybe his theory wasn’t such a good idea, now that he mentioned it.

Dean made a motion of impatience with his hand. “Then what, Sam? Not getting any younger over here.”

He looked over at Dean and rolled his eyes. “I think it’s this toolbox he carries with him. It’s in every picture of the guy on the construction’s website. Something in it might be attracting the spirit. And _no_ , I’m not talking about anything other than an actual toolbox, dude,” he continued the second he saw the gleam of insinuation.

Dean snorted. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emma interjected their banter with a small cough, for which Sam was thankful. “So wait, let get this straight. You think a spirit’s haunting an old toolbox, but you don’t know what site it’s on? Couldn’t we figure out where this David guy was last?”

_Smart girl_ , Sam thought with a secret smile and nodded. “That should be pretty easy. Assuming he leaves the toolbox there, that is.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Emma prompted and cocked her head in thought.

Sam felt Dean’s impatient eyes settle on him. “Then . . . I guess we go with Plan B.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Dean asked. Sam gave him a look that stated any suggestion would be a good one at this point, especially since Sam was beginning to flounder on solutions.

“Why don’t we go to the last murder site and talk to the spirit?” Emma’s question rang throughout the room and broke the momentary, uncertain silence that had settled.

“What, like hold a séance or something?” Dean asked.

“Sure, why not?” Sam said. “I’ve read about dozens of cases where séances were used to solve the issue or problem at hand.”

Dean looked at him like warts had broken out across his forehead. “Which means how many thousands _weren’t_ necessary.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed and shut his eyes for a moment. “Just go with me on this one.”

“Come on, Sam. Seriously, a séance? You think a spirit’s going to come out of the void and tell us how to put it to rest?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Sam said. “Besides, maybe this thing wants to be at rest. Might be the reason it’s present at all the murders. Maybe the demon killed those people and the spirit had nothing to do with it.”

“Or that could be coincidental,” Dean argued.

“Or maybe not,” Sam countered.

During this little debate, Sam noticed Emma grow silent and thoughtful. So when she suddenly grabbed a piece of paper and began writing, he turned his attention to her. She scribbled some things down quickly and Sam watched her pencil fly across the page like a zip of lightning. When she was finished, she slid it to Sam and looked at him with hesitant eyes.

He glanced down at the notebook and raised an eyebrow at the list he read: _quartz, olive oil, candles, a lily, rock salt_. “You’ve had some experience with this before,” he said.

“Just the one time,” she said and touched his hand. “I was eleven, and my mother wanted to commune with my grandmother.” She looked off into the distance, past the guys and towards the window that faced the ocean. Sam noticed the way her dark eyes glazed over and wondered why in the world her mother took her to conjure up the spirit of a dead loved one. The things people did. He’d never understand them.

Sam’s brow puckered. “And did she? I mean, how did your grandmother appear?”

She nodded. “Not visually, Sam. But we did hear things. And the room really got cold, so she must’ve been a strong presence in the room.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Emma what they had talked about, what signs her grandmother had given to let them know she was actually her and nothing something darker, but the far-off look on her face kept him silent.

“Works for me,” Dean said and stood up. “I thought I saw a New Age-y kind of store close to the Beau Rivage, so let’s stop there and get the quartz. The other stuff we have.” He pulled out the Impala keys and jangled them in front of Sam and Emma. Waggling his eyebrows, he said, “You two kiss and hug and I’ll get the girl warmed up.”

Sam shook his head, watched his brother nearly run out the door, and then turned to look into Emma’s troubled brown eyes. He stood up and walked to her, putting his hands on her arms. “Hey, you sure you want to do something like this? Nothing happened when . . .?”

She shook her head immediately and cut him off. “No, Sam, nothing like that. I can do this, okay? I need to do this.” Standing herself, she moved into his arms and held onto him tightly. Sam held her tightly for a moment before pushing her back to look into her eyes.

“Okay. This is better than spending hours being a Google hound,” he whispered and cupped her cheek, ”and maybe putting this spirit to rest will make things better for the construction company.”

She stared at him, and Sam saw something behind her eyes, something he wondered would be there when all this was over and behind them for good. “That’s not what scares me, Sam,” she said.

“Then, what? Dean and I know what we’re doing –“

She put a finger to his lips. “I am scared for _you_. I don’t want anything to happen to you. These last few days, being around you, the researching and scouting with you and your brother . . . it makes me feel like I . . . belong to something again.”

His face fell a little as Sam watched the loneliness wash over her beautiful features. He understood how alone she felt, because he had been thinking about the same things lately. Being an only child – the only living family member – scared him, because he had always had family. Even when he had taken off for Stanford and swore to leave his family behind, they had still been there in the background. A net for him to fall back on when he needed them. Without that net, he wondered if he would hit rock bottom. Something told him that Emma Boudreaux had already done that, and despite the confidant façade, she had allowed him to see her soft interior: a woman, pliant and giving, warm and caring, who was just as lonely as he felt at times. He still had Dean, but she didn’t have anybody.

Sam wrapped his arms around her, hauled her face close to his, and kissed her surprised, open mouth. He felt her arms snake around his neck, fingers dig into his hair, and her response as warm as a bright, humid summer evening. They stood like that for several moments, with Emma’s legs dangling inches from the floor, as they lost themselves momentarily in each other. Each seeking comfort and reassurance from the other, taking and giving as their lips met again and again.

When he put her down, Emma swayed towards him as she tried to stand on shaky feet. She sucked in an unsteady breath and looked up at him. “I guess that means you know where I’m coming from, _cher_?” she asked with a smile.

He smiled back and tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. “I guess it does,” he answered. Just then, he heard the Impala’s impatient horn and rolled his eyes playfully at Emma. “Guess Dean thinks we are spending too much ‘kiss and hug’ time together. Gotta go.”

A twinkle of mischief entered her eyes. “That’ll come later. I have a feeling we’ll need it.” A look passed over her face, which made his fall for a brief second, but he knew what she was thinking: this séance might show them more than any of them had bargained for. And if they weren’t able to trick the spirit into revealing its location, they might not have anyplace to go from there. But he could not think that way. Not just now.

Sam took her hand and led them out the door and down the stairs towards the Impala. Emma was a believer: having her at the séance would be a plus, because they would need all the good luck they could get. “You got that charm on you?” he asked before they got into the car.

She nodded and pulled the chain from beneath her blouse, revealing the anti-possession charm he had given her only the night before. “Never taking it off, Sam. I promise.”

“Good.” He fingered it for a moment and then opened the back door for her to slide in. Sam heard Dean grumble some comment to her, but he only shook his head, amused that his brother would not only give them one-on-one time, but that he would also be irritated by it. It was a good thing he never intended to tell Dean the truth about Emma and their time together: Sam would never live it down.

 

* * *

 

The waxing moon shone brightly in the crystal clear, starry night sky. The stillness of the wind, the serenity of the Beau Rivage seemed to mock the movements of the three shadows who sat on one of the circular marble tables that lined the spacious front grounds. Two candles were lit and placed on either side of the table, and a small bowl of water sat in the middle. All three wore serious faces, as if each knew whatever it was they were about to embark on was not only dangerous, but also potentially deadly.

“You sure this is going to work outside?” Dean whispered and watched Sam pour a small amount of olive oil into the bowl of water. “Never heard of it before.”

“Beats trying to break into the house, doesn’t it?” Sam said softly and glanced at his brother. “Besides, the murder happened a hundred feet from us. Wouldn’t it be better to summon the spirit so close to where we think it was?”

Dean pulled out his steel bowie knife and set it outside the circle, outside the place where the spirit would be summoned. With anything that involved conjuring, they might accidentally get something they weren’t looking for, that while they were only seeking information, what might appear would need to be repelled. It was the reason Sam held onto the rock salt next to him, and Emma had a small hand bell beside her.

Placing the quartz on top of a small, tattered Bible that he had taken from Emma’s library, Sam took a deep breath. He glanced at Emma. “You got everything ready?” he asked.

She nodded and put the lily on the opposite side of the Bible. “Yes,” she whispered and gave him a tentative smile.

He smiled and quickly squeezed her hand in comfort, though he knew her fear – _their_ fear – would help summon the spirit they wanted to speak with. He pulled out the small pin he had stuck into his jacket pocket and pricked his finger. He looked at Dean and Emma. “Okay, here we go.” The three of them joined hands, and Sam put his finger over the bowl. They watched as three drops of blood fell into the bowl and slowly spread out into the water and oil mixture. Three pairs of eyes focused on the swirl of blood and oil. Closing the circle, Sam began to speak softly.

“Spirit who visited this place, please come to us. We need your guidance. We need your help.”

The silence became thick and tense. Something seemed to shift in the air: what had been peaceful was now rote with fear, terror. Sam didn’t know from where it emanated. The mixture in the bowl began to churn in small, lazy circles, like someone was stirring it with a spoon. The scent of death was unmistakable. Literally. Sam gripped Emma’s hand tightly and felt Dean stiffen at the same time he did.

Still staring intently at the center of the table, Sam said, “Spirit who haunted this place, make yourself known. Tell us what we want to know.”

The flames suddenly spluttered as if being fanned. The windless night confirmed the fact that a spirit was, indeed, present. The tension increased among them, however, when they saw blue sparks shoot from the candles, sparks of azure amidst the frolicking yellow flames.

“Speak to us,” Sam repeated firmly.

“Fine. I’ll speak to you. What do you wanna know?” Dean’s voice broke through the thick still air, shattering the silence.

Sam stiffened with intense fear: while it was Dean speaking, the hint of a Southern accent betrayed the presence of a spirit inside his brother. “How’d you get into my brother, for starters?” he demanded and shifted his gaze to his brother’s blank face.

“Hey, I don’t wanna hurt this dude, or y’all,” the spirit snapped back. “There’s loopholes into the whole possession thing, or didn’t you know that?”

Sam sighed. It seemed the spirit had tapped into Dean’s snark and sense of humor. What was worse was how Dean would take this once the spirit left his body. Last time Sam checked, Dean Winchester never went around without some kind of anti-possession charm. “Okay. So tell us who you are.”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. What do you care?”

“I care because you’re not supposed to haunt this place. Why are you here?”

“Does it really matter why?”

“Of course it does,” Sam protested and felt Emma’s grip tighten.

“Uh huh. I’m not telling you.”

Sam silently cursed and wanted to break the circle long enough to punch the thing inside his brother. However, with Emma as his anchor, the reminder of why they were doing this in the first place, Sam sighed and watched his brother’s face for a sign of life. “Then tell me about the murder.”

“What murder?”

“The one that happened here. You haunt this place, right?”

“Oh yeah,” the spirit said. “That one. Nope, not gonna.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Sam sighed inwardly and glanced at Emma. She wore the same frustrated expression that he probably wore. “We’re going to find out sooner or later, you know.”

“But I was . . . told to, okay?”

“What do you mean, ‘told to’?” Sam asked and blinked with surprise.

“What, am I an echo?” the spirit said.

“Was it a person or a . . . thing?” Emma asked. Sam sensed the hesitancy in her voice.

The spirit used Dean’s eyes to hone in on her. “Hey, sweetheart. Aren’t you a looker?”

“Just answer the question,” Sam replied.

“Think it was a demon,” it answered.

“A demon. Any demon? Did it have a name?” Sam asked.

“Sure, his name was Sue. I didn’t think to ask,” the spirit snarked.

“Then why did you listen to it?” Sam asked.

“Hey, it threatened my afterlife. What was I supposed to do?”

Sam heard Emma swallow her surprise and knew he had to switch tactics before the circle was broken. “Then why are you still here?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you see what happened to the dude who was murdered here?”

“Maybe,” the spirit inside Dean replied cryptically. Sam watched it look over at Emma, who stared at the now steadily swirling mixture in the bowl, and smiled. “Pretty girl. Sure you don’t want her for yourself? Because . . . wow.”

Emma gripped Sam’s hand tightly, annoyed, and sensed a surge of anger in the air. “Enough. Just tell me what I want to know,” he insisted darkly.

“You wanna know? Fine. It’s something you really don’t want to mess with, kid. It knew you were going to ask questions and get me involved. Which I really didn’t want, okay? You’re all gonna die!”

With that, Sam watched as Dean’s shoulders slumped over, his mouth open, his breath leaving his lips in a rush of sound. The candles went out, and all the tension in the still air was broken. The spirit was gone.

Though they broke the circle with their hands, Sam kept a hold of Emma’s tightly. He watched as his brother lifted his head and groaned. “Aw, dude, what the hell happened?” Dean grimaced and put a hand on his forehead.

“The spirit decided to use you as a vessel,” Sam said flatly.

“What the . . . ? How?” Dean shot out of his seat and patted himself down. “I’m wearing all my protective charms. How did that happen?”

“I guess it wanted to use your witty banter to communicate,” Emma said under her breath.

Sam bit on his lip to keep from chuckling out loud.

Dean grunted again. “That was about as fun as a kick in the jewels. No offense,” he added after a moment and looked at Emma.

She shook her head and squeezed Dean’s hand for a moment. “None taken,” she whispered with a little smile. “Believe me.” She glanced at Sam and swallowed hard. “Well, that was a bust.”

_Not a total bust_ , Sam thought. He knew the demon was after Dean and him, that it knew they would conjure the restless spirit for information. What a troubling thought.

The good news was the toolbox was probably still on the property. The spirit held a powerful presence in Dean’s body, which might indicate that Mr. Welsh hadn’t taken the cursed object off the property. Sam briefly imagined the thousand reasons why a spirit would hold ties with a damn toolbox, but in the end, all they needed to do was salt and burn it and then wait and see if his theory proved correct.

Dean stood and spilled out the mixture in the bowl. “I’m going to go find this stupid toolbox and put that thing out of its misery.”

Sam nodded and tried to smile at Emma. “You okay?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him. “Sure. There’s a demon loose and it wants you. This spirit’s loose and it just possessed Dean to have a chat. The séance seemed like a waste of time. How much worse can it get?”

If there was one thing he’d learned, it was to never ask that question. “it’s not as bad as it seems. At least we know the spirit’s still haunting this place, which means we only have to salt and burn the object it’s attached to.”

“Salt and burn?” Emma stood up and picked up the leftover materials from the table. “What in the world is that?”

“Why don’t you come with us and find out?” Dean said and shoved the bowl into Sam’s hands. “We’re wasting night.”

 

* * *

 

To Dean’s relief, the three of them located the beaten-up toolbox inside the supervisor’s trailer, hidden behind a stack of boxes. The second Sam held it up, Dean had grabbed it, run outside, and soaked it with accelerant and salt before Sam and Emma caught up to him.

Never had Dean been more excited to see something burn. _Stupid spirit_ , he thought and watched the small fire lick the nighttime sky. He felt so violated, so used. This called for a hot shower, a beer, and a girl. Possibly all at once.

Especially, he realized, since Sam and Emma needed to do more than the avoidance dance with their sexual energy once they got back to her home. The sooner he got out of there, the better. If his brother didn’t do something soon, either he or the girl would implode.

But there was something more important than listening to his baser instincts, and that was locating James. If the guy was possessed with a demon – one that didn’t flinch from holy water and Christ’s name – then they had a fight on their hands. Better to find the guy and pull the demon out of him before it was too late. He had seen way too many innocent people die because of a demon’s abuse.

“I’m going to go track down James,” Dean announced to the other two, who trailed behind him, hand in hand, towards the Impala in what looked like deep conversation. He watched them both look up and grin at the same time, and fought back a smile of pride.

“Now?” Sam asked and frowned. “Are you crazy? We really should wait until morning, dude.”

“Hey, no time like the present.” Dean headed for the driver’s side door and heard Sam whisper something in Emma’s ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Emma walk towards her car parked a couple spots down and get into it. He then turned to regard his brother, who was standing next to him, arms crossed in a defensive position. “Dude, go make your move.”

Sam looked at Dean incredulously. “What? No, Dean . . . no.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Dean said and smirked. When Sam didn’t answer immediately, he felt the smirk become a full fledged smile. “I see the way you look at her. So I’ll look for our demon while you get your freaky geek on.”

Sam shook his head, and Dean could tell he was trying to hide his shocked amusement. Dean turned and opened the car door. “What, you are serious?” Sam asked.

Dean turned around and gave Sam a look. “Hell, yes, I’m serious, Sammy. Go get ‘er, tiger. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He whistled and got into the Impala.

 

* * *

 

Sam shook his head, and watched Dean spin out of the parking lot and onto the darkened highway. He wished he understood his brother a little better at times, though Sam knew what was going on: Dean wanted him to have some private time with Emma. It was Dean’s way of saying he liked the girl. Sam just wondered why Dean would put himself into danger like this. Especially since he hadn’t given Sam time to argue about it.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Sam turned and headed back to Emma, who obviously needed him more than Dean – at least, according to his older brother’s actions. Sam doubted his brother’s logic, but he could deal with Dean and his passion for self-destruction later.

The car ride back to Emma’s place was silent, except for the [blues-y rock music](https://youtu.be/5vATTSpDZIM) that filtered through the air like a whisper. Sam wanted to ask what was on her mind, but her obvious concentration on the road revealed she was thinking of other things. Sam knew that expression all too well, since Dean often used driving as an excuse to work out some problem in his head. So he leaned back as best he could and watched the dark shores of the Gulf breeze by. Hopefully by morning, the case of the haunted toolbox would be history, and Dean would be back with news on James’ whereabouts.

“Penny for your thoughts, stranger,” Emma whispered just as she turned the car into the parking lot to her condo.

Sam noted the playful tone to her voice and chuckled, a low growling noise in his chest. “Nothing. Just admiring the view.”

“In the dark?” she asked and turned off the ignition.

He turned and regarded her, saw the frank openness in her eyes and thought again about Dean’s deliberate absence. Maybe his brother was right, for a change. The view she offered looked more intriguing.

Sam followed Emma quietly inside and shut the door behind him. He stopped at the spot where the kitchen met the living room and watched her, saw her back turned to him and used the opportunity to admire her curvy frame, the flare of her hips and the gentle curve of her back. She was elegant, even despite the interesting night they’d had so far. Her clothes clung to her in all the places that mattered. His thoughts wandered, and before he knew it, he found himself walking towards her.

 

* * *

 

Emma felt his gaze on her, and she knew Sam was unaware of how he aroused her. To know this tall, powerful, caring man wanted her was beyond words. It was as necessary as air, the feelings he generated in her. Those same feelings she tried to stuff deep inside so he would not see, so when he left, that would be the end of it. _So I can mourn and try to move on_ , she thought. She met the hungry intensity of his gaze and tried to swallow. “Are you okay?”

He nodded a little and slowly closed the space between them. “More or less,” he said. “Knowing a demon’s after me and used a spirit to get to know me isn’t one of the better moments in my life.”

She watched as he moved to her until they were face to face. Emma looked up at him and shivered with pleasure when his hands slid down her arms. “Yeah, I don’t blame you,” she whispered and let her arms fall to her side. His large hands slid along her goose-pimpled flesh. Surely, Sam had to know how much she wanted him. “Is Dean really going to look for James?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and Emma saw a flicker of concern cross his handsome face. “Said he’d be back in a little while. Said I needed to . . .” His full lips quirked a smile and nearly sent her flying through the roof.

“What, get our ‘freak on’ or something?” she said with a smile. “He’s all about getting laid, isn’t he?”

Pulling her closer, he bent his head and whispered, “You have no idea.” He touched her lips with his for a brief moment, the kisses light as butterfly wings on her skin. She smiled between kisses and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him. No matter what the morrow brought, they had this night, at least. Tomorrow would bring its own set of problems – getting rid of the demon, for starters – and she didn’t want to think on that. Not yet.


	9. Chapter 9

The early morning sun filtered through the bedroom window like a lover’s caress. Soft rays stroked Emma’s face, bringing warmth that awoke her from a peaceful slumber. She stretched, blinked and shut her eyes to enjoy the moment. Memories of mere hours ago filled her mind and a shy smile touched her lips. She rolled over and reached for the man she knew was sleeping next to her. So when the rumpled pillow with Sam’s lingering scent greeted her, Emma frowned and forced her eyes open.

She sat up, sheet wrapped around her, and pushed her tangled hair out of her face. _Where is he?_ His shirts lay in a puddle on the floor, so he was obviously still in the apartment. Her eyes scanned the room for any other signs that might indicate trouble, but since the windowsill sparkled with an unbroken salt line, she ruled out demonic activity – at least in her room. Emma grabbed her robe from a nearby chair and slipped it on as she moved out of bed and padded down the hallway.

Halfway to the living room, she heard the soft sounds of keys clacking and smiled as relief flooded through her. It sounded like Sam was on his laptop, and judging by the quiet that exuded from the rest of the house, Dean had yet to make an appearance. Knowing the eldest Winchester, he was probably giving them as much ‘alone time’ as possible. Maybe because once he showed up, they would be too busy for peaceful moments.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and saw Sam’s back to her, his broad naked shoulders hunched down, and head bowed as he studied something on the computer screen. Leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, Emma enjoyed the view he presented: taut muscles that flexed as he adjusted his position on the couch, the way his hair curled up at the ends and lightly brushed against the base of his neck. She’d remembered the way it had felt on her fingers and wanted to creep up behind him and run her hands through his mussed hair and down his back.

Instead, she cleared her throat and stepped into the room. The last thing she wanted to do was startle him, especially given the events of the past few days. As she crossed the room towards the couch, she noticed him close his laptop with a quick snap and turn to her. A bright grin crossed his lips, which made her stomach flutter with excitement. And when he put his computer on the coffee table and pulled her onto his lap, she let out a soft cry of surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. Warm hazel green eyes greeted her, and Emma kissed him good morning and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Hey,” she whispered against his lips. “Thought you’d gone for breakfast or something.”

Sam smiled, though Emma noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah, Dean just called. He’s on his way back. Wanted to make sure I was . . . awake.”

She felt a bright blush cross her cheeks at the implication and had a feeling Dean would walk through the door with a fresh barrage of innuendos. “Oh,” she whispered and glanced down at Sam’s bare chest. She brushed the pads of her fingertips along the flesh and felt him tremble with laughter. “What? I like touching you.”

“And I like it,” he protested as he ran his fingers through her tangled hair, “but Dean’ll be here in a few minutes, and what I have in mind would take . . . a whole lot longer than that.” To prove his point, Emma felt him grind up into her body and felt the heat of desire in the small, simple movement.

“Sam,” she moaned under her breath and buried her face in his neck. His fingers continued to stroke her hair before they centered on her scalp in a soothing, massaging movements. She sucked in her breath and wondered if her body would turn into jelly right then and there. A large part of her wanted him to pick her up and head back to her bedroom, to recreate the intense passion that had flowed between them the night before.

But Sam’s brother was on his way. And no doubt he had some news about James’ whereabouts, among other things. Emma commanded her body to calm down, then pulled away from him regretfully. She looked into his eyes and saw a flicker of disappointment that was quickly replaced by acknowledgment. _If there was time later_ , they told her. _Later, after they got rid of the demon._

Emma wasn’t sure there would be a later, but she put that thought on a mental shelf and slid off Sam’s lap slowly. “So, what were you lookin’ up?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual voice.

Immediately, the air in the room changed: it turned cold and closed off, as if Sam had turned up her air conditioning to the highest setting. She almost shivered with the suddenness. “Nothing,” he replied and stood up. He walked away, towards the bedroom, and Emma noticed how distant he had become, how perfect his posture as he disappeared around the corner to her room. How pensive his face had become when he reappeared, moments later, wearing his white t-shirt.

_Was it something I said?_ She scooted to the end of the couch and focused on his laptop, still shut from before. Had he been looking for something he didn’t want her to know about? Was he harboring some secret that was never meant for the rest of the world to know?

As a skilled hunter, Sam knew things the average person didn’t. Knew what hid in the shadows, what preyed on innocent bystanders. Odds were, he kept well-guarded secrets: her instinct told her to back off and not say anything else. Because she had no right to pry or ask questions. She cared for Sam, but in no way would she make him feel obligated to tell her anything other than what he was willing to speak.

The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips as she realized that was enough for her. She harbored no hope that he would stick around after destroying this demon. Emma understood a hunter’s job took him everywhere, and rarely to the same place twice. Though that idea didn’t sit well in her stomach, she chalked it up to experience, and the consequences of getting involved with a hunter.

So she was about to open her mouth to ask him if he wanted to have a bowl of cereal with her when he approached her, took her hands, and asked, “Emma, if you knew someone you loved was going to die . . . what would you do to stop it?”

Emma blinked and then looked up at him, a little surprised by how quickly his mood had changed. Sam was deep in thought; his eyes betrayed what the rest of his face did not. And whatever the subject was troubled him greatly. She cleared her throat and let her hands feel the warmth of his. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, you have a scenario in mind?”

“Your mom. How did she die?”

She sucked in a deep breath. “She developed breast cancer. I was fourteen when she died.”

“So you saw it coming.”

Emma frowned. “Not really. By the time the doctors found the lumps, it was already too late. There was nothing they could do . . . and I felt so helpless.” She shook her head. “I don’t think Dad ever recovered from it.”

She remembered the change in her father’s demeanor after Mom died, how reclusive he became – shutting himself from the world, and his daughter. How she did what she could to lift his spirits, though nothing her adolescent brain could conjure up seemed to help. The iron wall closed off the thoughts of watching her dad waste away to nothing, because she didn’t want to go there. Not when she felt like there was a bigger issue at hand.

Sam nodded and seemed lost in his thoughts. He held onto her hands as he sat down on the couch next to her. Something in his demeanor suggested that he was attempting to solve a problem, and using her experience as an example. “But if you’d known sooner . . . do you think you would’ve found a way to save her?”

“Sure. What wouldn’t I have done to save her? How could we have caught it earlier? Then there are all the new treatments that have come out recently, and I find myself wishing they existed when my mom got sick. She might be alive today. Maybe.” Emma cocked her head to the side, watching him, and slipped one of her hands from out of his and cupped his cheek. “What’s with the twenty questions, Sam? I know it’s not my place to pry, but . . .”

He didn’t answer, but closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his breathing deep and even. At a loss for words, Emma simply sat there and touched the morning stubble on his face. And wondered.

She watched in dismay as Sam pulled the shade down over whatever thoughts worried him. When he looked up at her once again, his eyes were filled with the same warmth that had greeted her minutes before. Almost as if the last minute never happened.

Puzzled, Emma mentally shook her head and leaned in to kiss him when the front door shook with the force of someone’s insistent knocking. She brushed a quick kiss across Sam’s lips and then pulled away with a laugh. “I think that’s Dean telling us to stop having sex so he can come in.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and she heard his soft, rumbly laughter emanate from his chest. “He’s smooth like that,” he said and stood. “Better go get dressed, because I’m sure you’ll want to hear what he’s got to say.”

Emma nodded and got off the couch. She slid her arms down his chest and looked up at him. “Then we’ll pick up where we left off . . . later?” She hoped all her wicked intentions gleamed in her eyes.

“Later. Definitely.” Sam’s knowing smirk told her he got her message loud and clear. She tweaked one of his male nipples through his shirt and moved towards her bedroom to change. She needed a moment to pull herself together, physically and mentally. Seeing Sam’s struggle with himself bothered her, but she was sure whatever Dean had dug up overnight would put all other issues into the background.

What Emma wanted to know was if Sam was counting on that.

 

* * *

 

“Is it safe for me to come in, or are you and Emma still in the middle of your sex games?”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean. “Dude, you’re way too involved in what’s none of your business.”

“Come on, Sammy! Not everyday that you attract a hot chick like Emma. Besides, you stink like sex.” Dean threw himself onto Emma’s couch and made a face, though Sam noticed his eyes reflected worry and caution. Something was up, and as usual, he was using snark as cover-up.

Sam rolled his eyes and was thankful Emma was still changing her clothes. Better to have her ignorant of just how annoying Dean could get at times. Okay, maybe all the time. “Whatever, can we move on? Please tell me you found James.”

“Jeez, aren’t you Mr. Sunshine this morning? Emma, why don’t you put him back to bed and I’ll be back in a few hours?”

Sam turned to see Emma appear one again, clad in slacks and a sleek, sleeveless top. His eyes trailed along her body and wondered if she had an early start to her class schedule. Because he’d love to watch her in action . . . and that didn’t necessarily mean her topic of the day’s lecture, either. He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his thought process, and smiled at her. “Don’t mind my brother.”

“I don’t mind, Sam,” Emma said and smiled at Dean. “His brand of sarcasm’s appreciated around here. Not everyday I get teased about hot sex.”

Sam groaned and heard his brother snicker; he was pretty sure Dean would have thumped him on the back in a congratulatory manner had Emma not been in the room. But he suddenly didn’t want to talk any more about his relationship – or however you defined it – with Emma. Having Dean out all night hadn’t been the best idea, not by a long mile. Especially when there was a demon out for Sam’s “allegiance”, as it had mentioned. Thoughts of _the Boy King_ floated through his mind: was this some kind of attempt on the part of the demonic forces to get Sam to turn darkside? So he could be the leader old Yellow Eyes wanted?

Sam cleared his throat. “So what did you find?” he asked and closed his thoughts off to everything else. _Maybe if they had a lead on James . . ._

Dean nodded and his gaze shifted to Emma, who had sat down in the chair next to the sofa. “I went to James’s apartment and found traces of sulfur lying around, so if there was any doubt that he’s possessed . . .”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, we already got that memo, dude. Did you find _him_?”

Dean nodded and was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I found him,” he whispered. “While I was scoping out the construction site at the Beau Rivage for the presence of our mystery spirit – which I think we took care of – James’s body washed up on the beach nearby.”

The knot that had been twisting in Sam’s gut clenched tighter. The thing had blown through James, used him up like a dirty rag, and moved on to another innocent victim. He glanced at Emma and saw her rub her eyes for a moment. When she looked over at him, he saw the same frustrated fear he shared. “I’m sorry, Emma,” he whispered.

She shrugged. “James and I, we weren’t close or anything, but still.” She sighed and stood up. “Who wants coffee?”

“Oh God, yes,” Dean complained. “It’s not easy sleeping in your car.”

Sam snorted and watched Emma disappear into the kitchen. “You could’ve gotten a room or something, dude. Or better yet, come back here. You know it’s not safe being out at night, searching for a demon.”

“Oh please, like I wanted to be around for your sexcapades with Emma. No thanks.”

“Uh, guys? Standing nearby and hearing every word you’re saying?” Emma called from the kitchen.

Sam cleared his throat and glared at Dean. “Moving on. Did you actually find James’s body?”

“No, the Tooth Fairy did,” Dean snapped. “Of course I did. And got a good look at the body before the cops came.”

“And?”

“Just like the other victims, there wasn’t a scratch on him. Looked like he drowned or something.”

“And you didn’t see anyone else nearby? Someone the demon might have possessed?”

“Sure, I used my night vision to scout out the next victim,” Dean snarked. “The place was deserted, Sammy, and I wasn’t about to stick around for our men in blue to make an appearance.” He paused long enough to take a mug of black coffee from Emma and for a short sip. “Anyway, I stole James’s cell phone from his body.” He pulled out the phone and handed it to Sam.

Sam opened the phone and pulled up James’s contact list. Emma had reappeared with two more mugs of hot coffee, put them on the coffee table, and resumed her spot in her chair. With a grateful smile at her, he picked one up and took a sip. “Interesting,” he commented after a moment.

“What’s that?” Emma asked and sipped on her coffee.

“James only has two phone numbers saved in his contact list. Carla Bensen and . . . Eric. No Last Name Eric.” Sam looked at Emma. “Is this the _Eric_ who showed up with him to cleanse your house?”

“Possibly. I mean, there’s a lot of guys named Eric,” Emma said. “And James could’ve known more than one.”

“Sam, did the guy make any calls last night?” Dean asked.

Sam hit a couple buttons to access the phone’s recorded list of calls made. And frowned at what he saw. “Yeah. According to this,” he said and paused while getting additional information, “someone made a call at 1:57AM to Eric. The call lasted a couple minutes.” He glanced between Dean and Emma. “It’s the last call from his phone.”

Dean put the mug on the table and frowned. “Think that’s where James called to say ‘Hey, dude, the thing inside me wants to use your body. Demon wanna play?’”

“More than likely,” Sam replied and ignored Dean’s sarcastic remark. “Which begs the question, where is Eric now?” He slid his gaze to Emma, who was intent on her coffee. “Emma? Got any ideas?”

“Mmm, not really,” she replied after a moment and threw him a questioning look. “It’s not like he and I like to hang out after we’re finished with class and chew the fat about ghosts and goblins.”

“And that’s just the grossest mental image,” Dean replied, obviously disgusted with the Southern expression.

“Point is, you two are friends . . . right?” Sam insisted.

“Uh, yeah, he’s a friend.” Emma took another sip of her coffee, and the gleam of curiosity in her eyes make Sam realize he was sounding like a jealous boyfriend. Which he really wasn’t. “What’s with you and this . . . thing with Eric?” she asked and cocked her head.

“Nothing, but if Eric’s possessed, then there’s a good chance he’ll come after you.”

She paled a bit. “Why? Because Eric knows that I know you?”

“Among other things,” Sam said under his breath.

“What other things?” she asked sharply. “What are you talking about, Sam?”

Sam fought back a grim smile and ignored the very curious look Dean worse. “Come on, you didn’t notice that Eric’s got this massive thing for you?”

Surprise registered on Emma’s face. “No, gotta say I didn’t, _cher_. Too busy crushing on someone else.” She gave him a pointed look and drank down the rest of her coffee.

Sam watched the grin form on his brother’s face from the corner of his eyes and wanted to sink underneath the couch cushions. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact that Emma more or less just came out and said she liked him, or the realization that Dean was giving him hell without saying a word. He looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. “But the fact remains, I think Eric’s got the hots for you, Emma. Why else would he give you a subscription to that website he started?”

“Because he’s a nice guy?” she asked.

“Okay, you two. Work out your morning-after issues later,” Dean drawled and stood up. “If Eric’s our guy, then we better look for him. I say we start with finding his place and going from there. _After_ we get some breakfast.”

Sam finished off the rest of his coffee, now cold, in a single gulp and glared at his brother. “Dean, we can eat later.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“Great, so we can be eating breakfast and the demon wearing Eric’s body can waltz in and attack us in front of a restaurant full of people.”

“That has never happened, not in all the time we’ve been on the road, Sammy.”

Maybe not, but from the way the demon – then in James’ body – had insisted on Sam’s cooperation to keep others safe, Sam wouldn’t put it past the thing to do something so radical. “This time might be different,” he said. “How do you know it isn’t gunning for me now? Or you and Emma, for that matter?”

“Guys,” Emma tried to interrupt.

“No, Sam. No. That’s not going to happen,” Dean continued, interrupting Emma. “We get something to eat and then spend the day searching for Eric. And then we catch him and exorcise the demon inside him and hope to hell the guy doesn’t need a lifetime of therapy afterwards.”

“Guys?”

“Fine. You can go get something to eat, and Emma and I will meet up with you later, after you’re through feeding your face.”

“Guys!”

Sam watched Dean open his mouth to counter Sam’s verbal attack and stop. Emma’s voice ricocheted around the room in an effort to get their attention. He turned to find her standing, arms folded across her chest, and watching them impatiently.

“As fun as this witty banter is, and I really want to know all about exorcising and saving my friend, I have a eight AM class to get so. So can y’all finish this argument later? Or, better yet, while I finish getting ready?”

Sam tried to smile at her as she gave them a look, and disappeared down the hallway without waiting for an answer. Part of him wanted to follow, to explain his source of frustration – the fact that Dean appeared to have reverted back to his casual attitude towards this hunt.

“You know, we should stick around after this is over, Sam,” Dean suggested. “Emma’s a firecracker. Not like we really have pressing business.”

Sam sighed to himself. He _did_ want to hang around for a little while and get to know this woman as intimately as possible. She was a deep water and didn’t scare easily. Kind and passionate in a world filled with cruelty and darkness. Most importantly, she wanted _him_ despite their screwed up beginning.

But he knew he couldn’t. Not now – not when he had to find a way to break Dean’s crossroads deal. While he wanted to confess to Emma exactly what had gotten him up so early this morning, something told him not to. He’d barely had a chance to wrap his mind around the idea that, this time next year, Dean wouldn’t be hunting with him. Truth be told, sometimes Sam wished Dean had left things as they were: it would have been easier that way.

Being alone was not an option, and Sam would rather damn himself than put the burden of the dark Winchester secret on Emma. Not when they had just met. Not when he was unsure how she would react to seeing them in action, or if she’d even want to keep in touch – there was no guarantee they would ever see each other again. _Do I really want to put her through that?_

“Earth to Geek Boy.”

Dean’s impatient voice interrupted Sam’s train of thought. Sam slid angry, narrowed eyes towards his brother. “No. When this is over, and the demon’s gone and Emma’s safe, we’re getting out of here.”

“Why? You obviously like the girl.”

“Because we’ve got other stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

Sam threw Dean an incredulous look. “Like you know what. Do you really think I’m going to let you . . .?” He spoke softly, so Emma wouldn’t hear, but left the angry question hanging in the air.

Dean held up a hand. “Don’t make me give you the _I’m tired and looking forward to a rest_ lecture.”

“Then just for once, let me help you.” Sam hoped he kept the note of desperation out of his voice, but based on the irritation that crossed Dean’s face, he knew his brother had picked up on Sam’s unspoken worries and was just as angry that they were having this discussion again.

“The answer’s no,” Dean hissed under his breath, “and if you so much as bring it up again, I’m going to kick your ass into next week. Hear me?”

Sam looked away, glanced down the short corridor towards Emma’s room, and pretended to ignore Dean’s threat – more of a promise, and Sam knew that. Once Dean made up his mind about something, nothing short of a miracle could get the oldest Winchester to change it. Making that deal had been done out of desperation, the last act of a man so scared to be alone that he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that never happened. And it didn’t matter that Sam would be in the same situation when the Hellhounds came for his brother. Dean obviously felt he’d done his job, fulfilled his promise to Dad, and his reward would be an eternity of hellfire and torture.

Sam hated Dean for doing that. And no matter what happened, Sam would find a way to break that contract. Dean didn’t want him to pry? Fine. He’d do it behind his brother’s back. The determination infused him with a sense of purpose. More than anything, Sam understood that saving his brother would take up what little time he had between hunts..

For the present, his job was to get rid of the demon on his tail and protect a woman with a fiery disposition whom he cared for.

Emma appeared again before Sam had a chance to say anything else to Dean, her hair pulled back neatly from her face, her appearance groomed and more polished. Sam saw the worry in her eyes, but that was natural, considering the fact that they had been discussing exorcism when she left the room. He took a couple steps towards her and smiled. Their eyes met and held: for a moment, the rest of the world melted away.

“Okay, awkward,” Dean said and cleared his throat loudly. Sam rolled his eyes, tossed Emma another smile, and turned around. “So we going to get breakfast or what?”

“Honestly? Y’all go on,” Emma said and grabbed her purse and briefcase. “I’m not hungry, and I’m late for my morning class.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam offered.

“Yeah, good idea, Sammy,” Dean said and smirked. “I’ll go eat breakfast and then look for Eric.”

“And where do you plan on going to do that?” Sam asked and gave Dean a look.

“For starters, I’m going to look in the phone book for the dude’s address.” Dean pinned Emma with impatient eyes. “That is, if Eric’s got a last name.”

“Chambers,” she said. “It’ll be under Chambers in the phone book. And he’s got an office at the university.”

“Great, so Sam can snoop around for Eric while you’re putting the mind whammy on unsuspecting students.” Dean turned, headed for the door, and yanked it open. “I’ll let you know if I find something.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest this insanely stupid plan – because what happened if Dean actually ran into the demon on his own? – but refrained because his brother had already left the room.

“The mind whammy?”

Feeling Emma’s curious eyes on him, Sam looked down at her and shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Dean’s a walking encyclopedia of strange sayings. It’s all the TV we watched growing up.” He took her briefcase from her hand and stepped back to let her pass by. “Shall we?”

“You sure you want to come to work with me?” Emma asked as she grabbed her keys from their hanging place. “It’s not like you’ll have a whole lot to do. Aside from looking for Eric, I mean.”

As Sam followed her out the door and watched her lock it, he realized that finding Eric might not take any time at all, but as long as he was around Emma, it really didn’t matter. She took his mind off his other issues, whether she was aware of it or not.

 

* * *

 

The moment Emma and Sam had reached the university campus, she went into what she jokingly called ‘professor mode’: the professional came to the forefront of her mind, leaving the person in the background. Thoughts of the day’s lecture, the material to be covered, and student questions rambled through the corners of her conscious mind. It was like flipping on a light switch.

On any normal day – that being before the Winchesters and a demon came into her life – Emma would’ve chalked this phenomena on her coping mechanism, how she kept her professional life separate from her personal one. How she had learned to deal with the constant barrage of duties her career required and still retain a shred of sanity.

Today, though, Emma knew much of her change had to do with deliberately putting her worries away on a shelf for later: her strange conversation with Sam about trying to save her dying mother, the look on his face and the way he’d distanced himself. The obvious strain that appeared between Sam and his brother once Dean had gotten to her home. The fact that her co-worker and friend Eric was most likely possessed by a demon bent on destruction, and the only thing that could possibly save him was an exorcism.

She didn’t know much about them, but she’d seen _The Exorcist_ and knew it was based on a true story. And while maybe the spewing pea soup puke was probably over the top, Emma had always wondered if the rest had been more or less accurate. She bit back a shudder of fright when she realized she might be lucky enough to experience one first-hand.

Forcing her thoughts aside, Emma walked into her morning class, head held high, and started to teach like she would have any other day. After all, her students didn't need to know about the last several days’ activities.

With the lecture smooth and her students engaged in discussion, the hour passed quickly. Once 9AM rolled around, Emma walked the short distance from the humanities building to her temporary office.

She shucked off the professor aura and wondered if Sam had been successful in his efforts to locate Eric on campus. When they had parted ways earlier, she noticed Sam settle into what looked like his serious hunter face. The way he held himself at full height as he left for Eric’s office had told her that in a fight, Sam Winchester was probably a worthy, yet dangerous opponent.

She sighed and pulled out her cell phone, a little surprised to see her message light blinking at her. She called her voice mail box and waited for the message to start playing.

_“Emma, it’s Eric. Look . . . I haven’t heard from James since last night . . . and I . . . you know he’s dead, don’t you? Haven’t you heard the news yet? I want to make sure you’re okay . . . so . . . can you come over to my office after class? I really need a friend right now . . . please, Emma. Please.”_

Despite the worry and obvious sadness in his voice, something felt off about Eric’s words. For a moment she couldn’t put her finger on it, until she pulled up the Internet on her phone and checked the morning headlines on _The Sun Herald_ ’s website and a couple other local sites. There was no mention of James Wilson being found on the shores of the Biloxi Bay. Or of a body washing up, period. It was too early for that; more than likely the cops had closed off the scene to the media until they combed through the area for evidence.

Emma picked up the pace back to her office, to the safety of the salt lines and – she hoped – the younger Winchester. _What if Sam’s not there? What’s your backup plan?_ _Maybe you should call, just in case._

Pulling out her cell, she pulled up Sam’s number and called him. When he answered, she said, “Eric left me a voice mail, Sam. He knows about James being dead.”

“Crap,” Sam said on the other line. “That Doe. I’ve just started combing through the local news sites and haven’t found a word about the body being discovered yet.”

“Did you find Eric anywhere?”

“No. He wasn’t at his office, and the lady at the front hadn’t seen him come in.”

“What about Dean? Heard from him?” she asked.

“Not yet. I figure he’s still eating breakfast.”

Emma heard the sarcasm in Sam’s voice and wasn’t sure if she should smile or frown. In the end, she ignored the secondary impulse to ask him why Dean’s stomach bothered Sam so much. “Look, I’m seconds away from my office. You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, see you in a sec, _cher_.” Emma shut off her phone and pocketed it in her briefcase. Just as she was about to enter her wing of faculty offices, she felt a presence behind her. One that was familiar yet reeked of wrongness. Swallowing hard, Emma glanced behind her, one hand on the front door, and saw Eric standing behind her. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he looked absolutely miserable. Like his best friend had just died.

Her gut instinct told her to run for her life, but she remained rooted to the spot. “Hey, Eric,” she said in what she hoped was a friendly voice. “I just got your voice mail.”

“I thought you were going to come and see me,” Eric replied, his voice devoid of emotion. Strange for someone supposed to be upset over a tragic, personal event.

“I was,” she said and gripped the door. “I just wanted to put my stuff away before I headed over to your office.” She glanced towards the inside and spotted her door, a few hundred feet away. _How quick was a demon? Do I have a chance to make it to my office before it catches me?_

“Well, I’m here now, and I really need your help, so why don’t we take a walk somewhere and talk? Like we used to do?”

Her insides were screaming at her to not go anywhere alone with Eric. The flat monotone of his voice, the hardness in his face told her that Eric didn’t seem like himself.

“Eric, I’d like to just put my stuff down and . . .” She searched for the words to emphasize her need to get to her office without raising an alarm. Meanwhile, she had started to open the door and scoot her body through it in a backwards motion.

The look on Eric’s face changed abruptly: his brow furrowed with anger, and she swore his eyes turned completely black for a second – not just his pupils, but the whites of his eyes. “Oh, I see,” he replied with a smirk. “I’m not important anymore, am I? You’ve got that new guy in your life. That tall pseudo-intellectual wannabe that was hanging around you the other day, right? Your friends aren’t important anymore, not with that hunk of beef angling for you, am I right?”

“Eric, what are you – ?”

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about, dammit!” Eric’s voice reverberated like a clap of thunder under the metal awning that covered the front door. “You've known for how long that I’ve wanted to get into your pants? And yet you strut around here like a model, dangling your treasure in my face and all the while telling me we’ll always be _friends_? What the fuck do you take me for, you slut?”

Eric made a quick, jerking movement towards her, arms reached out to grab her. And while his words stung deeply, Emma didn’t allow them to paralyze her. Instead, she automatically stepped backward completely inside the front door and slammed it in his face. Without waiting to see if he would follow – because she had a sneaking suspicion he would – Emma booked it to her office, yanked the door open, and slammed it behind her.

She was greeted by a wide-eyed Sam, who’d been sitting at her computer and had turned to see her run in and lock the door behind her. “Emma, what’s – ?” He didn’t get the opportunity to finish his question, because the door reverberated with the sound of incessant knocking from the other side.

“It’s Eric,” she said, sucking in deep breaths of air. “He’s possessed.”


	10. Chapter 10

Emma confirmed what Sam believed when he failed to locate Eric on campus: her friend had been possessed by the same demon that killed James. The theory had been swimming in his mind most of the morning, especially after seeing the last call James had made on his cell phone. The pieces fit together too perfectly.

Since she had given him a copy of her office key, Sam first swept the perimeter of the main building, in case Eric made an unannounced visit while Emma was in class, and then searched the suite of faculty offices for Eric. When that produced nothing notable, he went back to Emma’s office to wait for her.

With the better part of half an hour to kill, Sam used the office computer to research, though that was more to waste time and to keep his mind off the fact that he hadn’t heard from Dean yet. Where the hell was he? Was breakfast that important when lives were at stake? Had Dean dug up something more interesting about Eric, or did any of that matter anymore?

Apparently not, since Emma now stood against the closed door, her body pressed against it in an effort to keep herself upright, her eyes wide with terror. Her hand clutched the doorknob; Sam noticed she’d locked them in, with the hopes of keeping the possessed Eric out. The only problem was, without a salt line to protect them, he and Emma were vulnerable: nothing stood between the demon and them. Sam wanted to kick himself for not having the foresight to protect this room.

He rushed over and pulled her from the door. The pounding grew louder, to the point that it visibly shook with each beating. Sam slipped his phone out of his pocket and called Dean. They had to get out of there. Now.

Fortunately, Dean answered on the first ring. “Dude, get to Emma’s office. Now,” Sam yelled.

“I’m on my way,” Dean said. “Didn’t find anything at Eric’s apartment, except a wall full of pictures of Emma.”

Sam felt the shock spread through his body. “What? You telling me I was right about Eric and his crush on her?” He glanced at Emma, who was watching him with wide eyes. He could tell she wanted to know what Dean was telling him, but he held up a hand to her to wait.

“That’s what I’m telling you, dude,” Dean said. “Some of those pictures go back a few years, so it’s possible that he’s been stalking her and she didn’t know it.”

“And that’s why the demon possessed him?”

“Possibly. Does it matter?”

The pounding on the door became more insistent. “How far out are you? Eric’s here and about to break the door down.”

“Aw Sam, always playing the damsel in distress,” Dean said. Sam heard the hollow laughter in his voice. “I’m pulling into the driveway now.”

“Good, then pull up to her office window. We’re going out that way.” Sam ended the call and pocketed his phone. Then he grabbed Emma’s hand. “Come on, we’re going.”

“But what about – ?” Emma asked and glanced back at the door, which had suddenly gone silent.

“Don’t worry about him now,” Sam said and heard the strong purr of the Impala pulling up into the parking lot. He pulled the window up and grabbed her around the waist. “We’ve got to get to a place where we can fight back. It’s not safe here.”

The second he saw Dean pull into park, Sam pushed Emma out the window and watched her land on both feet. She took off towards the Impala without waiting for him; with a rueful smile, Sam hauled himself out the small window head first, rolled onto the ground, and was up and running towards the car seconds later.

He’d made it to the passenger side when Eric appeared out of nowhere and punched him in the face. Sam flew back against the closed door with a shout of surprise.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Eric demanded. “We got stuff to talk about.”

“The hell we do,” Sam replied, his hand fumbling for the door handle while he pulled himself upright to face the thing inside Eric. “I don’t know what you want, but – ”

“You know what I want,” it said, and a maniacal smile curled on its lips. “I want you, Sam. And maybe your little girlfriend for dessert if I get the chance.”

“Sam!” Dean roared from the driver’s side.

“The only thing you’re going to get from me is a one-way ticket back to Hell,” Sam said and decked Eric with a sharp left hook, which sent the body staggering backwards. While it appeared that the assault had little effect, it was enough for Sam to pull the car door open and slide inside. The Impala, with all its inhabitants safely within her interior, screeched out of the parking lot and sped away before the demon could collect itself and wreak some real damage on them.

“Okay, what was that all about?” Dean demanded as soon as they were on Highway 90 towards Long Beach. “Did you know he’d be there?”

“No,” Emma replied after several deep, cleansing breaths. “Eric doesn’t usually have morning classes today.” She sighed. “I always thought Eric was a nice guy, but the things he said to me . . .”

Sam turned around and put a comforting hand on her knee. A few moments ago, he might have said it was the demon talking; but with what Dean had discovered, he wasn’t so sure the human was any better. “There’s something you should know about your . . . friend, Emma,” he said softly and then glanced at Dean before continuing. “You want to tell her what you found?”

Dean nodded, and Sam watched him eye her in the rear view mirror for a moment before he spoke. Almost like he was trying to gauge whether she could handle it or not. “That whole jealousy crap Sam was spouting this morning? Looks like it was true.”

Sam glared at his brother but heard Emma’s breath shoot out of her mouth in surprise. “What?” she said. “He really _does_ have a thing for me?”

“Yeah, he’s been Mr. Stalkerazi from the hundreds of pictures I found on his wall,” Dean continued. “How long have you knows this guy?”

“Maybe a year or so? Why?”

“Because . . . he’s got some pretty intimate pictures of you. I’m talking stuff like you jogging on the beach, wearing your little red string bikini,” Dean said and shot a grin at his brother.

“Dean.” Now wasn’t the time for his brother to start making cracks about Emma’s body. Bad enough that Eric the Creep had been invading her privacy. And from the grieved look on her face, she obviously had no idea this guy had been doing anything but be nice to her.

“Okay, I am officially freaked out,” she said after a minute. Sam watched her take her hair down and run her fingers through it. “I can’t . . . that’s so disgusting. No wonder he said all those things . . .” She let her voice trail off into nothing as her eyes focused on the back of the Impala’s front seat.

“What things?” Sam asked sharply.

She shook her head. “Nothing, just . . . I knew there was something wrong with him. Knew it. Called me all sorts of names and accused me of . . .” Sam watched her shudder and force herself to stop saying what she’d just been thinking. Her eyes met his, and he saw the struggle in them between her willpower to fight back and her fear. “So what do we do now? How do we get that _thing_ out of Eric?”

“Full-on exorcism,” Dean replied, his focus on the road ahead. “Which means we need a place to crash that’s off the beaten path somewhere.”

“Right,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Right. Can’t do it at my place, because that would attract attention, huh?”

Sam mustered an encouraging smile. “Yeah. That, and we’d only end up trashing your place.”

“Y’know, I think I know a good place to have this demonic showdown.”

“Where?”

“At my grandparents’ house.”

“But Emma, didn’t you mention they lived somewhere in Louisiana?”

“Yeah, they did, but they had another house in Bay St. Louis. Mostly it was a rental property, but it’s been abandoned for years. I always intended to fix it up one day and live in it myself, but . . . would that work?”

“Where’s it located?”

“Off the beaten path,” Emma echoed Dean’s earlier statement. “At the end of a dirt road the county never bothered paving because hardly anyone lives out there.”

“Then that’s perfect,” Dean said with a smile and pushed hard on the gas. “Tell me how to get there, because we’re burning daylight.”

 

* * *

 

Dean pushed the Impala down the road like the Devil was on their heels. Whatever this demon was, it clearly wanted his brother. Was this what the demon Pride meant when it had called Sam “the Boy King”? With Yellow Eyes dead, were the demons trying to rally around Sam and coerce him to gather their forces? Was that why they were being more aggressive than usual?

_Never gonna happen_ , he thought. _Not on my watch. Those bastards will never get Sam._ Even as the words drifted through his mind, Dean realized that one day, he wouldn’t be around to protect his little brother. His number would be up; the Hellhounds would track him down and send him packing to Hell. And Sam would be alone.

All the more reason to make sure the demon army was sent back to Hell where they belonged. That way, Dean could ensure a manageable, normal life for Sam. Even settle down with a girl like Emma. He felt the corners of his mouth tug into a small smile and fought it back. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. First they had to find this old house.

“What street are we looking for?” Dean demanded as they crossed the long highway bridge that connected Bay St. Louis to the rest of the Mississippi Gulf Coast. “Seems like we been on this road forever.”

“Kapalama,” Emma said from the backseat. “It’s not far on the other side of the bridge.”

Dean glanced at Sam and gave him a funny look. “Cap a lama? We are gonna shoot a lama?” His eyebrows shot up with amusement.

Sam sighed heavily, and Dean swore he saw his brother’s eyes roll from the lame attempt at humor. “No, Dean. Kapalama Drive. It’s the name of the street where her grandparents’ house is.”

“Turn there,” Emma said after they’d crossed the bridge and pointed to her right. “It’ll take us to the street.”

“This place’d better be freakin’ worth it,” Dean grumbled when he turned and noticed the narrow, unpaved road ahead of them.

Old forest and trees lined the road on both sides, and if he didn’t know any better, Dean would’ve believed they had been transported back in time, before people inhabited this area. The virgin woods loomed around the car, giving the otherwise sunny day an ominous look. The deeper they drove along the road, the darker it got. “Uh, Emma?” Dean asked and squinted ahead for some signs of life. “You sure this is the right street?”

He heard her throaty laughter. “Why, is Dean Winchester scared?” she asked. “It’s just a back road, Dean. I figured you’d want to take the back way instead of calling attention to ourselves.”

“Good point,” Sam replied. “For all we know, Eric’s following us.”

“Pretty sure he isn’t,” Dean said and glanced in the rear-view mirror. There were no signs of life, demonic or otherwise.

A few minutes later, they reached the end of the rocky road and back into civilization. Dean saw Emma’s hand appear to his right as she pointed once again to the left. “Turn here,” she explained, “and Kapalama is just a mile away. It’s right off this road.”

“Good,” Dean replied and looked at Sam. “We’ll need some time to prepare.” In more ways than one. Not only would they have to work on safeguarding the house from the inevitable demon attack, but he got the feeling he and Sam would need to give Emma a crash course in how to get rid of a demon.

Dean figured she could probably handle it, but being prepared ahead of time couldn’t hurt.

The directions Emma provided were sufficient, and Dean found the old Boudreaux place pretty easily. He maneuvered the Impala down the long driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac on Kapalama Drive and halted in front of the house – the crumbling, abandoned home shrouded by the forest on all sides.

“Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said it was off the beaten path,” Dean muttered and got out of the driver’s seat. He headed for the trunk for supplies.

Emma laughed a little. “And here you were probably thinking I was going to lie to y’all or something,” she said. “Be careful. Been awhile since anyone was in the house.”

“How long?” Sam asked and got out of the car with her. “We talking months, years?”

“Probably at least a decade. I mean, I haven’t been here since . . .”

Dean felt the two of them standing next to him and nodded. “Okay, so we’ll make sure not to take off our shoes,” he said and handed Sam a large duffel filled with spray paint, rocksalt, guns and casings. “Don’t want to get tetanus and die. Because that’d just suck.”

“Dean,” Sam warned and elbowed him. “Crack jokes later, okay?”

“But we laugh in the face of danger,” Dean protested.

“Any chance I can get something to haul in?” Emma joked, but Dean heard her concern behind the light-hearted comment. He turned and smiled at her before he handed her another bag with similar contents.

“Just as long as the lady’s offering,” he replied. He watched Emma roll her eyes and sling the bag over her shoulder. He grabbed the rest of the needed supplies and slammed the trunk shut. Emma had started walking up the crooked, broken front porch, but Sam hung behind. Dean shot a curious look at his brother. “What, dude?”

“Nothing, just . . .” Sam sucked in a breath and smiled. “Thanks, Dean.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “Er, for what?”

“For treating Emma like . . .” Sam fumbled over his words and snuck a look in the brunette’s way. Dean watched his brother watch her put down the bag she was carrying and take out a key to the front door. A gentle smile flitted across Sam’s lips, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Dude, moon over your girl later,” he complained and hit Sam in the arm. Before Sam could formulate a lame retort, Dean had already headed towards the house, smiling to himself. Emma seemed to be one of those girls worth saving, he thought. Plus she was bossy and had a mouth on her, which was definitely good. That determination would help her through the long night ahead.

And if all went well and they ganked the demon, maybe they should stick around, so Sam would have more time with Emma. That is, if Dean could convince his brother that rest and relaxation was a necessary component of the hunter lifestyle.

 

* * *

 

The front door opened to a massive living room area, one that Sam suspected was warm, welcoming, and homey. However, years of neglect and the Southern Mississippi heat had destroyed what little furniture remained, and the smell of mold and rotten wood nearly knocked him over when he entered the house.

Wallpaper hung in pieces on the walls, as well as the floor. The long dining table along the back of the room looked like it had been gutted by termites, split in two large pieces and resting in a precarious position against the wall. Once upholstered chairs had become little more than pieces of wood that looked like a small child glued them together. And each exterior wall housed large bay windows, filthy with neglect and age.

“God, this place stinks,” Sam muttered and coughed at the dust they’d kicked up from the floor.

“Yeah, talk about old grandma smell,” Dean replied and smirked at Emma. “Too bad we can’t open the windows.”

“Why can’t we?” she asked, her voice muffled by her hand over her mouth. “Smells like this place has twenty dead bodies in here.”

“Never a good idea,” Sam replied and shut the door behind him. “The last thing we need is a stiff wind destroying the salt lines.” He locked the deadbolt and dropped his duffel bag to the floor.

“Oh.” Emma looked like she hadn’t considered that possibility. Sam frowned. Of course that would never have occurred to her: she wasn’t used to this kind of life. Sam realized there were several things he needed to teach her before Eric found them. If Dean was right about Eric’s obsession, then he hoped Emma was a quick student.

“Besides,” Dean continued and surveyed the exits that led out of the main room, “dead bodies have their own smell. Think lots of meat sitting out for days, with the flies and – ”

Emma made a face. “Thanks. Could’ve done without that olfactory lesson.” She attempted a smile. Sam saw she was trying hard to be herself and was impressed by her strength.

“Old factory?” Dean asked and shot Sam a look. “Dude, I think your girl’s got some word issues or something.”

“Not really, considering she can still banter with you and hold her own,” Sam said and winked at Emma. “I take it there isn’t a basement?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No, just this room, plus the kitchen and dining room on this level, bedrooms and bathroom upstairs.” She pointed to the simple steps that disappeared through the ceiling.

Sam eyeballed the steps and shook his head. “Those stairs look about as sturdy as Dean’s knowledge of Latin.”

“Hey,” Dean complained, “I know enough. I _can_ read, you know.”

“The point is,” Sam intoned and rolled his eyes, “if we’re going to protect the upstairs, we gotta make sure we can get up there.”

“I got it covered.” Dean grinned and headed for the stairs.

“Dude, you going to jump up there with your superpowers or something?” Sam asked and cocked his eyebrow.

“Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you, those are secret?” Dean secured his bag on his shoulder and quickly jaunted up the steps, taking two at a time. “You two salt the windows down there,” he called before disappearing to the second level.

With an amused sigh, Sam turned to Emma and found her rummaging around in the bag Dean had given her. “The salt’s in the tin gas container,” he offered and smiled when she immediately pulled it out of the bag.

“Kinda figured that when I saw you using it in my office, _cher_ ,” she replied, and her disarming smile made Sam’s heart thump in his chest. “So what do I do?”

Sam found his container of salt in his duffel and picked it up. “First, we have to make sure every possible opening is salted,” he said. “Windows, doors. If there’s a crack that leads to the outside, put salt across it. Demons can’t cross salt lines.”

“Because salt is pure?” she asked and took a few steps towards him.

Sam nodded. “Basically.”

“What else?”

“After that, I get to teach you some Latin.” He reached out and fumbled with the chain he saw peeking from beneath her blouse. “That your anti-possession charm?”

Emma nodded. “Told you, it’s never coming off,” she said and smiled.

Their eyes met and held a moment, and it seemed as if they should be somewhere else. Someplace out of the way, surrounded by warmth and candlelight, where they could spend the evening talking about themselves and getting to know each other. Not in this filthy house waiting for a demon to find them. Emma deserved better.

Sam grunted and stepped back, away from temptation and re-focused his energy. “Okay, let’s get to work,” he whispered and nodded towards the door. “I’ll start with there if you get the windows. This room first, then the kitchen.” He moved to the front door, where he began pouring lines of salt to keep Eric from getting inside and doing any damage. Sam made the lines wide and even to ensure they would remain unbroken.

He watched Emma out of the corner of his eye and approved of the way she meticulously spread the lines across the room’s windows. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, which made him grateful they were in this dank house instead of her comfortable condo. Better to trash something already on the verge of collapse.

Once the doors and windows were salted, Sam grabbed a book of basic Latin incantations and the can of spray paint from his bag. He tossed Emma the book. “How much Latin do you know?”

“I know Pig Latin. Does that count?”

He laughed. “Not even remotely.” Indicating to a chair closest to the door, Sam continued, “Have a seat and I’ll run you through the exorcisms I know.”

“There’s more than one?” she asked and sat down, book open to a random page.

“You’d be surprised what kinds of demons are out there,” Sam explained. “Just as many exorcism rituals.” He looked at her and saw the curiosity in her eyes.

“Then, how do you know which one to choose?”

“To be honest, it took awhile. I mean, I’ve always known demons existed, but . . . it just wasn’t something we dealt with.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow. “How long have y’all been ‘dealing’ with the supernatural?” she asked.

Sam cleared his throat and tried to ignore the interest in her voice. “Awhile now. Anyway, when Dean and I crossed paths with a demon a couple of years ago, it took some digging to figure out how to exorcise it. I found a ritual online, and that kinda led to discovering others. Found this generic exorcism and memorized it. It’s always worked for me.” He crouched down to the floor, pulled the top off the spray can, and proceeded to draw a Devil’s Trap at the front door. Putting too much attention to detail in order to avoid the barrage of questions that were probably running through her head. Some things needed to remain unsaid.

“What are you drawing on my _grandpere_ ’s rotten floorboards?” Emma asked after a moment.

Sam twisted his head around to look at her and smiled. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Professor Boudreaux. I suggest you buckle up and hold on.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Emma felt her head ache with information. While she sat in the rickety chair by Sam, he went through the basics of the exorcism: the energy, concentration and control it took in order to expel the demon without harming the human trapped inside. That sometimes the person didn’t survive, since demons enjoyed brutalizing the mortal coil. The thought occurred to her that she had seen this already in the deaths of the construction workers and the supervisors’ bodies that had washed ashore – all abused and abandoned by this demon.

To say it was a shock was an understatement. She was completely out of her depth and wondered if being there with Sam and Dean was suddenly a good idea. Did they need a rookie hanging around? Sure, keeping a tight lid on her emotions was possible – she had done that for most of her adult life. But when Eric found them, the supposed friend who probably knew everything about her, including this residence, then could Emma maintain a cool head while she watched a demon being wrenched from a body?

At some point, Dean had appeared from upstairs and proclaimed that area demon-proofed. She smiled, despite her fears, because the older Winchester seemed to be going out of his way to keep things light. Just as Sam was trying to educate her as best he could, with the expectation that she could handle it. With the day trailing into the afternoon, Emma decided to follow through with this, and prove to herself and the Winchesters that she could take whatever this demon had coming for them.

Emma watched Sam and Dean work while she concentrated on the circular patterns they were drawing with spray paint on the floor. While Sam drew smaller shapes by each window and the front door, Dean spent his time creating a larger, much more intricate pattern of symbols in the center of the room. The latter was huge and spanned nearly a third of the floor around the decaying furniture. The only shape she recognized was the pentacle: the rest were completely alien. Clearly, this was some kind of protective device, because otherwise the Winchesters would not have used them. “What are these?” she asked.

“What Dean’s making is a really large Devil’s Trap,” Sam explained as he finished his last symbol and stood up. “This,” he pointed to the still-drying pattern, “is a smaller version.”

“I take it they trap devils?” She cocked an eyebrow at Sam and Dean.

“More or less,” Dean said and put the finishing touches on the trap. He then touched a couple places to ensure it was dry, and then grabbed the area rug he’d rolled off the floor earlier and covered the symbol. “We’re going to trap the bastard in this thing and send it packing back where it belongs.”

“But what about the other traps?” Emma asked and pointed to them.

“They all work the same in holding a demon once it gets inside. But we can’t be too careful.” Sam moved across the room and crouched beside her chair. “Some demons are powerful enough to break these traps before they get caught in them.” He shot a look at Dean, who wore a somber expression. She wondered how many times they had seen demons do just that.

“And you think the demon possessing Eric can . . . do that?” she asked, the cold grip of fear evident in her voice. Which was the last thing Sam and Dean needed to contend with. Emma mentally kicked herself for not keeping a better hold of it.

For a moment, nobody said anything. Emma stared at Sam, and saw serenity and strength etched onto his handsome face. Only his eyes were warm with concern and empathy. An image of burying herself in him flit across her mind: she wanted to hide from what was coming, the unknown. The ugliness of their situation melted away, and all she could see was Sam.

But she was stronger than that; there had been personal demons in her life that she’d overcome. Surely a real one couldn’t be that much worse.

A loud, knowing cough brought Emma screeching back to the present. “I’ll go make sure we got everything we needed from the car,” Dean said and headed out the front door.

“Dude, be careful,” Sam cautioned to his brother, though he never took his eyes from Emma’s.

The door snapped shut with a quiet thud. Once alone, she took her hand and smoothed it across Sam’s cheek. “I won’t lie to you, _cher_. I’m scared. All this . . . it’s so much to take in.”

“I know it is,” he whispered. “And I knew you’d be afraid. That’s normal.” While he leaned into her touch, she sensed a hesitation in him. “But is this . . . _too much_ to handle?”

A stormy uncertainty replaced the calm in his eyes. Emma realized, with a sinking heart, that her words had caused him pain, something she never intended to do. Did he think she was going to reject him somehow? That she wasn’t strong enough to help him out if he should need it?

“Sam, it’s not like that,” she protested and smiled a little. “I’m scared, but only because I’ve never been through something like this before. Until now, this was stuff Hollywood cranked out to me. Never thought I’d be in this position.” _Much less be the bait_ , Emma mused to herself. “I’m just saying that . . . okay, this is a lot to take in, but we’ll get through it together. Right?” Her voice had lowered to a mere hush, as if speaking her fear aloud would jinx their preparations.

Sam’s response was immediate and decisive: he closed the distance between them and kissed her swiftly on the lips. His hands touched her face, ran through her hair, as their mouths moved together for a moment. He tasted like strength and desire, a combination that comforted, even as it warmed. Emma returned his caresses with her hands on his face, stroking them to convey the reassurance that she trusted his judgment – and wanted him in her life, whatever that entailed.

They broke the kiss and Sam pulled back. Emma watched his intense eyes – passionate and intelligent – shutter away his deeper emotions, until all she saw was her own reflection. He was going into hunter-mode, she realized, and sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. She opened her mouth to verbally acknowledge their unspoken moment but was interrupted by Dean’s sudden appearance through the front door.

“Showtime, kids,” Dean hissed and slammed the door behind him. He stepped over the salt line and looked down to ensure it hadn’t been broken. “Dude’s not waiting until sundown.”

“Figured he wouldn’t,” Sam muttered and stood up. He grabbed a gun and handed it to Emma. “You know how to shoot?”

She smiled and got to her feet. “I grew up in Louisiana,” she said and took the weapon from him. “Been shooting since I was five.” Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, so she turned to look out the window.

And paled, because Eric stood on the other side of the window, face pressed against the thick paned glass and a maniacal grin on his face. Hard, ebony eyes glared at her, forcing her to swallow hard. The butterflies in her stomach flapped wildly, but she would have to ignore them. Emma was not about to give the thing possessing Eric a reason to take her or harm Sam and Dean.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam crouched underneath one of the windows and watched the figure outside circle the front of the house with an even-paced walk. Almost like it had traversed this path before – which was probably true, given that Eric was just as perverse as the possessing demon.

Gun ready, he glanced at Dean, who had taken a similar position near the door. Sam turned and looked at Emma. “Get behind the couch over there,” he said and motioned towards the loveseat behind him.

Without comment she obeyed; Sam got the impression that she was putting up a brave front for them, acting like this didn’t bother has as much as it did. On some level, he was glad she was a little freaked out: nobody should have to witness what she was about to. He made a mental note to answer her inevitable multitude of questions when this was all over and then turned back to watch the demon draw near to the front porch, in carefully measured steps. Like Eric knew what was waiting for him behind the front door.

The _demon_ knew, Sam corrected himself and held his gun close. The person trapped inside had no idea what was going on – assuming Eric was still alive.

“I know you’re in there, Emma!” the demon inside Eric shouted as it sauntered up the steps. “Come on out. I just wanna talk.”

Glancing back at Emma, Sam noticed the terror in her eyes, even though her brow furrowed with irritation. She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a finger to his lips to silence her. The last thing they needed was to piss this thing off: no telling how powerful it was, or how long it had been trying to crawl out of hell.

“Yeah, been a long ass time since I was stateside,” Eric’s voice called, and Sam winced at the words. He had forgotten the demon could somehow hear his thoughts. “I just gotta thank you and Dean for getting me out, finally.”

“That wasn’t us,” Sam shouted from his position.

Eric reached the top of the steps, and Sam heard a low chuckle that prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. “Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that, Sammy,” Eric replied. “Now why don’t you come out and play, since Emma won’t?”

“This dude’s starting to piss me off,” Dean grunted and peeked out the window at the figure. “I say we let it in and exorcise the bastard.”

“Remember my promise, Sammy,” Eric continued. “If you don’t give me your allegiance, or everyone you love’s going to die a sticky, wet death.”

The tidal wave of anger threatened to crash down on Sam, but he kept his emotions firmly checked. He had no desire to be open to demonic possession: once had been enough for him. “Considering they’re all in here with me, I’d say you got a snowball’s chance in hell,” Sam shouted.

“Not if I find a way to get in first,” the demon replied.

Dean stood up suddenly and headed for the door. “That’s it,” he snapped. “Talk time’s over. Time to send you back where you belong.”

Sam followed his brother, and in a couple long-legged strides had crossed to the front door. Dean had yanked it open and was now facing Eric, who wore a triumphant smirk and eyes that turned ebony and soulless – proof that the demon was doing the talking.

“Gonna trap me and send me back?” Eric cackled and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’ll be interesting. Really interesting.” His eyes slipped past Sam and into the room. “Say, where’s your slut? Got her chained up somewhere so you can fuck her later?”

Sam felt his free hand wrap into a tight fist but refrained from moving. It was trying to get a rise out of them, waiting for someone to screw up so it could get inside and kill them.

“Hey, psycho stalker boy, you kiss your mom with that mouth?” Dean chimed in and aimed his sawed off at the demon.

“Dean, the useless brother. You think a shotgun’s going to scare me?”

“It’ll hurt like hell when I plug you with enough rocksalt to purify Eric’s soul.”

“But aren’t you worried that you’ll kill Eric, too?”

“Not really, considering rock salt won’t kill him,” Sam interrupted. “Besides, he’s probably already dead.”

“Oh yeah? Who says?” Eric’s body paced back and forth across the front door like an animal. “You think because I get off on watching human beings suffer, that I’d go so low as to kill the host?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that?” Dean snapped and cocked his shotgun.

Eric stopped and laughed again, a chilling sound despite the heat of the afternoon. “Eric, that pathetic excuse for a human, is still alive. Why? Because I love watching him suffer right now.” His eyes shifted to Sam. “He wants to kill you for getting to his girl.” Moving so that his feet stood just centimeters from the salt line, Eric met Sam’s angry gaze with a smile. “Did you know he was planning on taking her out and seducing her, just to screw her as many ways as possible before wringing her neck?”

A soft gasp emanated from behind the loveseat, and Eric zeroed in on the sound. “Oh, hello sweetie,” he said. “Daddy’s home. Want to let me in so we can have a little fun?”

“Hell no,” Emma said from her spot. “I’d rather rot in hell myself.”

“Hey, I can arrange that. Not like Dean’s not gonna know what that feels like soon enough.”

“This is all very entertaining,” Dean said, “but I’m not in a caring, sharing mood.”

Eric laughed and raised his arms above his head. “What, don’t want Emma to know about your crispy trek south? Think she can’t handle it?”

Before Sam could stop him, his brother deliberately dragged his foot through the salt line, breaking that barrier. “Not a matter of anyone handling anything, except personally watching your sorry ass sent back where it belongs,” Dean replied and cocked his gun.

Sam glared at Dean, but all he did was smirk a little – his _relax, dude_ look. Frowning, Sam took a step back and dragged Dean with him, all the while keeping his eyes glued on Eric.

A low chuckle escaped Eric’s lips, and Sam watched his eyes move to the floor at the orange spray-painted devil’s trap. “Think that’ll keep me out?” he whispered and balled a hand into a fist. He leaned down and pounded the edge of the trap with his hand, breaking the rotting floorboard into pieces and the trap along with it.

“What the hell?” Sam shouted and fired his weapon at Eric, but he felt himself abruptly thrust backwards across the room, his gun clattering to the floor as he connected with the hard wall. He groaned and tried to move, but he found himself pinned in place. Another crunch followed seconds later, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam was able to make out Dean’s form in a similar position on the wall next to him.

They had been immobilized, and Sam watched with increasing frustration as Eric – untouched by Sam’s shot – sauntered through the front door and towards Emma, who had apparently shot to her feet when he and Dean had been sent flying backwards. She held her gun in both hands and seemed surprisingly steady for someone who was face-to-face with a demon for the first time.

“Now I say it’s time to party,” Eric whispered, the comment obviously directed at Emma. Sam watched as she skirted around to the other side of the loveseat, as far from Eric as possible – her heels touched the large rug that hid the large devil’s trap.

“Sorry. Not in a partying mood,” Emma said and lifted her chin in defiance.

Crossing towards her quickly, Eric tried to corner her behind the loveseat. “You’re so damn fine when you’re scared . . . I can smell the fear. Tastes great, like blood.” He moved around one side of the loveseat, but Emma didn’t feed into the demon’s cat-and-mouse game. Instead, she backed herself into the carpeted area in the middle of the room.

“You sound like a beer commercial.” Emma sounded like she was trying to make light of the situation, but the joke fell flat to Sam. “But whatever you got planned, it ain’t gonna happen.”

Eric shrugged and lunged at her. “Who cares, so long as I get to play with you? Let your jolly green giant over there watch. Eric here sure wouldn’t mind.”

Ducking the demon’s grasp, Emma backed off the carpet close to Sam and glanced back at him with uncertain eyes. “Wh-what?” she asked.

“Yeah, Eric’s here, in his own meat suit. And man, he’s after your blood, _Emma_. Wants you to suffer for putting him through hell. All the watching, waiting, spying on you when he knew you weren’t looking. Wishing you’d just do more than plaster your stupidly fake friendship smile on your face – he wanted something much more than that.” Eric’s voice cackled and cracked with the demon’s forceful words. “I’m happy to oblige him.” He walked to the edge of the carpet and would have continued, but he stopped suddenly in mid-stride, almost like an invisible wall prevented him from moving any closer to Emma. His face scrunched with surprise, and with his attention focused solely on his present situation, Sam and Dean slid off the wall and landed on the floor.

Sam got up and helped his brother to his feet, eyes narrowed on the man on the carpet. “Guess you should check your surroundings next time,” he said and pulled a piece of the carpet away, revealing the devil’s trap drawn on the floor.

“No plowing your way out of this one, asshat,” Dean growled and grabbed the nearest chair. He walked into the trap, yanked Eric into the seat, and proceeded to tie him up.

“Oh, he’s calling me names. I’m so hurt,” Eric taunted. His laugh was hard, filled with nails that made Sam want to beat him senseless.

Instead, he turned and looked down at Emma. She had her weapon in a vice grip, to the point that her knuckles were beginning to turn white. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him for a moment. “You okay?” he whispered.

She glanced up at him and nodded. “This is seriously creepy, _cher_ ,” she told Sam. “It sounds like Eric, looks like him . . . but I know it’s not him. But the things he’s saying . . .”

“Don’t listen to them,” he said.

“Yeah, don’t listen to me,” Eric mocked. “It’s not like I tell lies or anything. Isn’t he going to leave you just as soon as he and his shortbus brother ‘take care of me’?”

“Shut up,” she said and glared at Eric.

Eric ignored her and focused his attention on Sam. “Isn’t that right, Sam? You’ve fucked her, so you’re going to leave her. It’s that simple, isn’t it?”

Sam felt the wrath that the other man shot out with his words, things that were intended to harm. But it was more than that. Eric sounded angry, resentful; his voice was filled with loathing. Sam wondered briefly if the demon was making Eric say these things or if the man inside harbored a serious case of jealousy towards Sam and anyone who wanted Emma.

“What will she be to you when you’re gone, Sam? Another notch in the bedpost? Just another memory of a decent lay to get you through the long, lonely nights when you can’t warm yourself with another woman?”

He mentally flinched at the intimation, that Emma was just a warm body. Especially considering she was anything _but_. Not that he’d let the demon know that. “Hey, beats being tied to a chair.”

The demon smirked and made Eric’s face a contorted mask of evil. “Sammy, all you have to do is give me your support for my nomination and everything’s a peach again.”

“What is this, a demonic presidential election?” Dean snapped and circled Eric until he found a flask of holy water. “How about a little anointing first, just for kicks?” He picked up the small silver can and opened it – one flick of his wrist and the demon was howling in pain.

Emma shuddered in revulsion. “What was that?” she demanded.

“Holy water. Demons hate it,” Sam told her and moved away from her towards the devil’s trap.

“Good,” she muttered and glared at Eric. “Spray him with some more.”

“Gladly,” Dean said and tossed some holy water towards the demon. Eric’s body writhed in pain at the stripes of water that touched him, and the demon howled for a moment.

“Torture me if you want,” he said after recovering from the momentary pain. “Send me back, if you dare. We’re only going to find another leader.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“You think just because your Yellow Eyed friend’s dead, that we demons are going to line up and wait for people like you to exorcise us?” Glittering eyes looked at Sam, then swung towards Dean. “Hell no. If Sam’s not going to step up as the leader, then I’m doing to do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Devil’s Gate opening? Demon army got out? Hello, am I talking to myself here?” Eric smirked. “We’re leaderless. I’m going to change that.”

“And you think getting me to turn darkside’s going to do that?” Sam asked and avoided the curious look he knew was on Emma’s face.

“Basically.”

“You’ll burn in hell first before that happens,” Sam replied tonelessly and glanced at Dean. They said nothing, but Sam heard Dean’s thoughts: _send this clown packing, Sammy._

More cackling laughter. “Been there, done that, thanks,” it said and looked around the room. “But even if you’re successful?, we’re still coming. Another leader will rise in your place, Sammy, more horrible than you can imagine. And your girl there . . . she’s gonna be the first one taken down when you’re gone.”

_That’ll never happen. Not if Dean and me have any say in the matter._ Sam maintained his hold on his emotions but shot that last thought towards the demon inside Eric. In fact, he separated himself from what made him Sam Winchester, and in doing so, became something more than his mere humanity. He became a hunter, a walking and breathing man who knew how to kill without murder, how to invoke without mistake, and how to send demons back to hell without taking an innocent life.

He shut his eyes briefly and let the well-used exorcism come to him like an old friend. This was for Emma, he thought and began to speak the Latin words:

_Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino qui fertis super caelum caeli ad Orientem Ecce dabit voci Suae vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo._

The demon inside Eric began to write in pain; it tried to move out of the chair, a scream of agony ripped from its host’s lips as it began to struggle against the word of God. “No, you are _not_ sending me back!” it shrieked and glared hatefully at Sam.

Dean tossed a few more sprays of holy water on top of Eric’s head and watched the tendrils of smoke rise around him. “Yes we are, you sonofabitch.” He looked up at Sam, who continued the incantation unabated.

Sam let his words fall like a river: smooth, deep, heavy, yet flowing and calm. He ignored the demon’s taunting, the words that dripped like venom as it told him what it intended to do with Emma once it got free.

When the demon saw its words had no effect on Sam, it tried another route. “Sam, you know she despises you. Haven’t you figured it out yet? She secretly hates men, hates them because they’re all beneath her. Eric? He was a fish on a hook. Didn’t know what she was when he laid eyes on her, but he’s learned since then. But you’re gonna wish she left you hanging, compared to what’s in store for you if you don’t fulfill your destiny, the one Azazel set for you. It’ll be messy, and you’ll beg for death to find you quickly before the end.”

Sam’s voice wavered with anger; a couple words shot out of his mouth and caused direct pain to the demon, eliciting painful howls from it. As he continued to read the words, the thing laughed between grunts of pain and frustration. “You are . . . going to . . . regret this.”

_… eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare…_ Sam stopped speaking, let his words die in his throat, and looked up at Eric. His body was sunk into the chair, but his eyes were black as midnight. “If you’re trying to piss me off, then you really suck at it.”

Eric’s lips tisked disdainfully, though it was the demon who spoke. “Liar. I can feel your hatred, your need to destroy me. How easy it’d be, and then turn on your brother and your worthless lover.”

Sam felt Dean’s reaction more than saw it – the darkened hateful glare on Eric’s face, the angry hunter ready to do maximum damage if somehow Sam failed to exorcise the thing. Ignoring the anger that raced through his veins, Sam honed in on the demon’s eyes and cursed the day he had been sullied with demon blood. He despised the Yellow Eyed Demon for killing his mother and sending his father on a quest for vengeance. Hated his father for dealing with the damn thing that had destroyed his family. Despised Dean for saving his life at the expense of his own. Hoped for Emma’s safety in the end but understood she might not make it out alive. Knew that giving into his anger would destroy them all. There was no way he would give what the demon wanted: his hate and his backing.

The Latin chant spilled from his lips of their own volition: his voice strong and clear, void of emotional energy. This would end. Now. He would show the demon world just how much he never wanted to be their leader.

_Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae te rogamus, audi nos. Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo. Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri._

The demon’s eyes grew wide with disbelief, as if it had not expected Sam to use his determination as a channel for good. It broke eye contact and continued to obviously struggle to maintain control of its host, though it was losing the battle. The thing broke loose from Eric’s body, finally, as Sam spoke the final words of praise and thanksgiving, and both Winchesters and Emma watched as billows of thick black smoke left Eric, through his mouth and nostrils, beat against the broken ceiling, and dissipate into the night sky. Eric’s body hunched over in the seat and remained there, motionless.

 

* * *

 

For a moment, no one spoke: all three of them watched the inert figure – head bowed in an unlikely position. Emma was sure that Eric was dead, and the fact that he hadn’t spoken or moved solidified that theory. Being able to think about Eric being dead in such a detached manner bothered her, but then again, what else could she focus on?

Certainly not the fact that she’d just witnessed her first exorcism, and it was _nothing_ like what she had seen in the movies. On that account, Sam had been correct. She had stepped into a deep puddle of mud, to the point where she was literally in over her head. Without the knowledge and experience the Winchesters possessed to lean on, she was vulnerable, like the grime-covered child without another change of clothing. At a total loss for words – not enough in her to scream or faint, like she thought so many other sane women would do at a time like this.

“So . . . not like _The Exorcist_ , then,” she whispered in a hoarse voice and looked down at her hands, which still held her weapon in a vice-grip. It took a conscientious effort to loosen her hands and make her knuckles look flesh-colored again. A short burst of laughter came from her lips; did she honestly think her joke was funny?

“I hate to say I told you so,” Sam whispered in her ear, and Emma looked out to find herself starting at his chest. When had he gotten so close? His hands ran up and down her arms, rubbing her gently in a soothing motion.

She nodded and continued to stare at him with sightless eyes. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked. “Eric, I mean.”

“Yeah, he didn’t make it,” Dean said. “Which happens. Demons burn out human bodies like matches. Sometimes the host survives, but most of the time, the demon’s the only thing keeping the body alive.”

A shudder threatened to overwhelm her, and Emma sucked in a deep breath to pull herself together. “Note to self: never get possessed.” She glanced up and into Sam’s concerned hazel eyes and tried to chuckled. “Sounds like a horrible way to go.”

Empathy lit behind Sam’s eyes, though he only smiled. “Keep wearing your charm, and I don’t think you’ll ever have that problem.” He paused, and a sense of hesitancy emanated from him. “Seriously, are you okay? I know that was a lot to take in, but . . .”

“I’ll be okay, _cher_ ,” she said, putting her hands on his chest. “I just think I need to . . . find a way to decompress or something.” _And then research all this to wrap my brain around the fact that demons exist and like to play with humanity_. Questions – always her coping mechanism, especially when dealing with the unexplained – were already beginning to formulate in her mind, things she specifically wanted to ask Sam and his brother. These were two men who could give her answers she’d probably never find in a book or on the Internet.

“Oh, they do a whole lot more than that, sweetheart,” Dean said, interrupting her train of thought. “Trust me, I know these things.”

“Sure, Einstein,” Sam said to his brother. Emma caught his sardonic eyeroll and felt a little more sure of herself. He backed away from her and gave her arms one last soothing touch. “I know you have a ton of questions – ”

“Just like a geek girl would,” Dean interrupted with a smirk.

Emma glared playfully at the oldest Winchester. “You’re just jealous because you’re clearly not the geek of your family.”

“Yeah, I know,” he beamed. “I’m the hot one with the guns.” Crouching in front of Eric’s body, Dean untied and laid it on the floor in front of the chair. Emma watched this with curious eyes, especially considering the atmosphere in the room had lost the charge of intensity and became the usual informal snarking between the brothers. _Did they always poke fun at each other after a hunt like this?_

“Whatever gets you through the day, Dean,” Emma said and handed her gun back to Sam. “But you’re right: I really want to pick your brain . . . if I have the chance.” A little voice inside told her that they might up and leave soon, so she wanted to get in as many questions as possible. Ignoring Sam’s pained expression, she pointed at the body. “For instance, what are you going to do with . . . ?”

“You got a big backyard?” Dean asked and hauled Eric’s body onto one shoulder.

Emma nodded. “Since this place is surrounded by thick tree lines, it’s quiet and no one else on the street will know what we’ve been up to.”

“I hope not, because we need to salt and burn the corpse,” Sam replied. He bent down, put their weapons away, and grabbed two large canisters from his duffel, along with a set of matches.

“Salt and burn?”

“It purifies the body,” Sam continued, not looking at her. “The salt does. The burning destroys the body so it can’t be possessed again.” He held up the accelerant. “And it won’t take too long using this.”

_Ew. How can they stand to do this? Clearly this is a regular gig._ “Then you’re gonna need a place to hide the body,” she said and started for the kitchen in the back. “I assume there’s a smell to cover up.”

“You’d be right about that,” Dean said. “There a backdoor we can creep out of to take care of stalker boy, here?”

Emma nodded towards the other side of the kitchen while she led them to the door. “There’s a large septic tank in the back. Not like anyone’ll ever step foot on this property again.” She opened the door and saw the rickety steps to the ground. “Be careful, because I don’t know if the steps still exist,” she said and stepped back to let Dean and Sam make their way out the door.

Part of her wanted to remain in the house, where she would be spared the sight of watching the brothers burn a fresh corpse, but Emma practically ran down the decrepit steps, unable to handle being alone amidst such horror. Outside, she noticed Dean had put the body on the ground. Sam was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Sam?” she called.

“Getting some shovels,” Dean said with a small smile. “Can’t burn the body above ground, or else the house might catch fire.”

She laughed, a flat sounding noise. “Yeah well, a fire might be the best thing that ever happened to this place.” She passed him and opened the door to the shed, which practically came off its hinges. She grabbed a shovel and headed back to where Dean stood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam appear with two shovels. “Need any help with that?” she asked.

“Not unless you want to dig a grave,” Sam responded with a serious smirk when he eyed the instrument in her hand. “Maybe you should go back inside and let me and Dean take care of this.”

“No way. I’m never going inside that house again. I’d rather be out here.”

“Then you’re into back-breaking labor?” Dean asked her before glancing at his brother. “Dude, keep this girl.”

Emma snorted and ignored the pleasant sensations that swept through her over the idea of being a part of a unit like the Winchesters. Of getting to know and befriending Sam like she wished she could. “Or, I could watch, and then help you dig up the manhole cover for the septic tank.”

“And she likes seeing men get sweaty,” Dean smirked and smacked Sam on the arm. “Even better.”

With a short snorting sound, Sam tossed a shovel at Dean, and the two of them began the long, arduous task of digging a shallow grave. Emma found a large tree stump not too far from them and sat down to watch the process – one she assumed would take the rest of what afternoon they had left. As she sat there, her eyes kept turning to Eric’s body crumpled on the ground. The guy seemed so nice, so sincere when they’d met: Emma had been relatively new to the Gulf Coast campus, and he was one of a handful of people to really take the time out of his hectic schedule to talk to her, get to know her. As a fellow member of the History Department, they had a lot in common to begin with.

Now, with a shudder, Emma realized that all must have been pretense, one of many methods Eric used to gain access to her personal life to spy on her. Part of her wished Dean had never discovered that piece of information, especially since she had genuinely liked Eric as a friend. Never had there been any indication that he wanted something more from her. _The guy must have been a really good actor, then . . . either that, or I’m a blind idiot_.

The false sense of security she’d felt the last couple of years was a sham: there was no such thing. With her history of loved ones leaving her, Emma figured she got that by now. There were no guarantees in life – the perfect job was anything but, her loving parents were gone, victims of things completely beyond her control, her friendship with Eric had been nothing more than a smokescreen for a much darker, nefarious agenda.

Moreover, Sam, who by all accounts seemed to genuinely like her, would probably be gone as soon as he and Dean finished their work here. Now was the perfect time to mope over the fact that her life felt like a big steaming pile of nothing.

Yet Emma smiled and pushed the negative thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time for Pitypalooza. The last few days reminded her that there was another world out there, one she’d had only enough experience with to understand she was curious to learn more. It was the drive behind her research into the paranormal on the Gulf Coast, the route she took to gain contacts in the Hoodoo community. History had always been her strong suit: what if she could use that to explore the reasons behind ghosts and spectral energies? Use her knowledge to help people like the Winchesters get rid of demons?

_Right, Emma. You just want to do this so you can keep in touch with Sam._ The voice of doubt brought all her whimsical thoughts to a grinding halt. Maybe she should chalk this up to an interesting brush with several aspects of the supernatural and use them as a foundation to her ghost stories. Surely, that was the only thing that lingered now between her and Sam: memories and fleeting emotions. Wasn’t Sam going to leave? What were the odds of her seeing him again? Why wasn’t that sitting well with her?

Sam’s loud grunting brought her back to the present – she saw both he and Dean had shed their outer garments, and their t-shirts were plastered to their bodies. They were drenched with sweat and grime, and Emma had never seen a better sight. “Y’all should seriously think about doing those wet t-shirt contests for men,” she called, her eyes lingering on Sam’s toned torso.

Dean snorted. “They have those?” he asked, incredulous. “Who wants to watch a bunch of dudes get wet?”

Sam glanced over his shoulder, something in his facial expression that made Emma warm all over. She felt her face flush and hoped he thought it was from the hot June evening. “In an all woman’s club, Dean?” she asked, though she continued to stare at Sam. “I bet the girls would be all over you.”

“Girls are already all over me, or didn’t you notice that the other night when you met Sam?”

“Whatever,” Sam interrupted. “Enough ditch digging. Let’s burn the body, toss it, and get the hell outta here.” He smiled at Emma, and she returned the gesture. Maybe he was going to be around for a little while after this was over. She intended to use that time to ask him everything she possibly could, starting with the things the now Hell-bound demon said to Sam.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, with the last of the sun’s rays lighting the horizon, Sam and Dean had finished the body disposal and were getting their gear from the house. While waiting for the body to decompose from the flames, Emma had shown them where the septic tank cover was buried – the lid was only a few inches underground, but it took time and every curse word Dean knew to pry it off. A couple times Sam wondered if Dean was going to tell him to make a bomb to blow the lid off, but fortunately it never came to that.

Despite the smell, he and Dean extinguished the fire and tossed the remains into the septic tank. No one would ever doubt the smell if it got bad: the stench from inside the tank was ranker than the smell of burnt flesh. _If I ever get used to this, someone shoot me_ , Sam thought as he and Dean holed up the tank and replaced the earth over top, trying not to gag as they worked.

Emma had more or less remained on the stump, where she’d watched with disgusted fascination at the concept of getting rid of a body. Sam was all too aware that she was probably beyond grossed out – having been through the terror of seeing an exorcism and then knowing the guy she’d hooked up with knew how to hide the evidence – but what interested him was how she still watched. The researcher in her had taken over, gathering data, formulating questions, making a To Do list of what she wanted to learn first.

But Sam didn’t blame her when she insisted on waiting in the Impala while they got their things. The intense look in her eyes betrayed her overwhelmed state of mind. He had a feeling that, while her mind was swirling with information, her body was exhausted. He briefly remembered that feeling: unable to sleep because of the horrors of the job, knowing what he’d lost and would never have because of what he seemed destined to become. All the more to get out of her life, so Emma could go back to her normal life, one in which he had no place.

“I was thinking we should stick around here for a little while,” Dean said, interrupting Sam’s brooding thoughts.

Grabbing his duffel bag from the floor, Sam glanced at his brother. “Why? We have work to do. You heard that demon, Dean: these things are leaderless now, so who knows what’s going to fill that spot?” He automatically thought about himself, how he was supposed to be the head of that army.

“I get it, Sammy. I do,” Dean said and opened the front door. “But do we have to go solve that crisis right this second? Besides, you that ready to leave Emma?” He cocked an eyebrow at Sam and pinned him with a look.

“It’s not like that,” Sam said and frowned. “I just think that . . . Look at everything we’ve been through the last few days. Totally interrupted her way of life and probably destroyed her sense of security along the way. I really want her to get back to that.”

“And you think that’s gonna happen on her own?”

Sam remained quiet, because if he was honest with himself, he knew he wanted to help Emma with the transition back to what she knew. That while life as she knew it was forever changed, there were things he could do to help her.

“Well, tough, Sam,” Dean continued after a moment and smirked. “Because I’ve seen the way you look at her and the way she looks at you. You two have . . . things to settle. Besides, I’m starving.” He coughed and winked before tossing the duffel over his right shoulder and heading for the Impala.

Sam shook his head and wondered again at the way Dean butted into aspects of Sam’s personal life and took over, leaving Sam with very little say so. In this case, though, he could handle it. Any excuse to spend more time with this intriguing woman he would honestly miss when they left.


	12. Chapter 12

The moment after the Impala pulled into the driveway of Emma’s complex and she and Sam got out, Dean took off. He gave Sam a knowing wink and offered them some lame excuse of checking out the other night time sights Biloxi had to offer. He interpreted this to mean that Dean was making himself scarce for the night, so Sam could have some time with Emma. Based on the amused glitter he saw in the oldest Winchester’s eyes, Sam guessed what kind of ‘help’ Dean was envisioning.

He smirked as he watched his brother speed off into the dusky evening: Dean was many things, but subtle was never one of them. Turning to gaze at Emma, he saw the curious interest in her eyes as she watched the Impala scoot into the highway traffic. Clearly she’d picked up on Dean’s none to delicate innuendos because she turned to Sam and grinned. “I think your brother’s hoping you’ll get laid a few more times before you leave, _cher_ ,” she said loudly.

He winced mentally. “He means well,” he replied with a rueful smile, “though I think he takes way too much interest in certain aspects of my life.”

“That’s just because he wants you to be happy,” she said. Grasping his hand in hers, Emma led him inside to her cool air-conditioned home – a large contrast to the sticky evening outside. The change in temperature hit his sweat-stained shirt and raised goose pimples along his arms.

Sam breathed deeply as he shut the door behind them. “God, it feels good in here,” he said and turned Emma around. He regarded her flushed cheeks – proof of the warm afternoon – and tousled hair with unabashed interest; his hand stroked the length of her dark locks, trying to bring a sense of comfort to her.

It had been a long day – the demon that had come after Sam might have been exorcised, but it came with a price: the life of someone Emma considered a friend. And even though that friend turned out to be a crazy stalker _before_ he was demon-possessed, Sam knew she probably felt saddened by the loss.

As he felt her dark hazel eyes roam over him, taking in his dirty t-shirt and jeans, arms streaked with red clay from digging holes in her grandparents’ backyard – his body responded with the tug of need. His fingers curled around her hair and when he glanced down he saw a similar hunger etched in her face. She looked tired, but clearly some inner desire made her alert, because she seemed as aware of his physical presence as he was of hers.

They were alone and out of physical harm. However, the tension between them – the awareness that thrummed between them – presented another kind of pleasurable physicality that Sam was all too willing to explore.

He stepped back instead, and dropped his hand. The look of regret on her face, immediate and unbridled, made him wish he had remained where he was. “You look tired,” he whispered. The needs of his body would wait: ensuring her mental well-being was more pressing.

“You look filthy,” she replied with a smirk and a twinkle in her eyes. “I’d say a shower’s in order.”

He laughed. “Sounds great. I probably don’t smell that good, either.”

Emma’s response to that was to step into his body; Sam heard her inhale deeply and he shut his eyes taking in the feel of her soft curves against him. “Never smelled better,” she said and slid her hands underneath his t-shirt.

“Emma,” he groaned softly. “Can I at least take a shower first?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty dirty, too.” Emma looked up at him and winked, a broad smile on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

A moment of shyness overcame him, something Sam still felt at times, and he wanted to kick himself for it. Any other person would jump at the opportunity to touch Emma’s naked, wet body; he’d be an idiot for denying the two of them that pleasure. He shoved it away to the back of his mind. “No,” he replied with a grin. “I don’t mind.”

“Good, because I was going to get in even if you said no,” she said and turned away from him. On her way towards the bathroom, Sam watched as she pulled her shirt over his head, revealing her soft back. Emma glanced back at Sam, her eyes heated with anticipation, before entering the bathroom.

_What a flirt_ , he mused with a smile. Following her example, he moved towards the bathroom. By the time he got there, Emma had already jumped in the shower and turned on the water. Sam could see the shadow of her body silhouetting the curtain as she moved under the spray. Images of what lay on the other side made him swallow hard.

“Sam, I can hear your thoughts from in here,” Emma called out over the water hissing in the shower. “You gonna join me or do I have to find other ways of convincing you?”

Needing no further invitation, he slid behind the curtain and stepped into the shower with her. The warm water pounded against his skin and made him tense momentarily with the temperature change. However, Emma’s arms were already encircling his waist and her face upturned towards him for a kiss. Never one to deny anything to someone he cared about, Sam threaded his hands through her wet locks and pulled her up for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

Later, Sam rested against the headboard of Emma’s bed and watched his large hands gently massage her shoulders and back. He marveled at her smooth, creamy skin, a touch of heaven under his fingers – nearly flawless save for the freckles dotting across her back. The pads of his fingers traced patterns along her shoulder blades and down her spine, and he fought the urge to lean down and taste the places his fingers touched.

The massage had been a spontaneous thing, something Sam never had any experience with until meeting Jessica. She had liked soothing massages after making love and went so far as to teach him the basics; assuming Emma might enjoy the same thing, he automatically positioned her in front of him, his long legs sprawled out on the bed as she sat between them. And from the noises Emma was making, he figured she was enjoying this as much as he was.

Despite their earlier exertion, Emma still seemed a little tense, especially the muscles around her neck. Not that he blamed her: she had been through something terrifying, a life-changing experience she needed to digest. As his fingers worked into the tender flesh there, he wondered if their intimacy hadn’t been charged by whatever was running through her mind.

“I love this,” she whispered in her soft, musical voice, interrupting his thoughts. “Kinda figured you had the magic fingers.”

Sam thought about Dean and his love for that same kind of bed and winced. “It’s a well-kept secret,” he said. “But I’m wondering if it’s making you feel better.”

“It is, Sam. It really is.”

“Which means you have probably a million thoughts going on in there.” He paused long enough to smooth a finger down the back of her head and part of her spine.

“Got it in one.”

Sam leaned in and kissed the spot where her head met her neck and resumed the massage. “So hit me with something. I’ve got all night.”

“Well, I _was_ planning on something that didn’t involve talking, but since you mentioned it . . . I was thinking about Eric.”

Sam sighed and flattened his palms onto her back, moving them vertically along her spine. As much as he wished she never gave that . . . _guy_ another thought, part of him understood. Up until this morning, Eric had been a friend, someone Emma thought she could confide in, because it seemed she had few friends. “I’m sorry he turned out to be such a creep,” he whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” Emma said and pulled away from Sam long enough to grab a shirt from underneath her pillow and put it on. Figuring that was one of her quirks – hiding her nightclothes – Sam tucked his legs beneath the bed sheet and covered up his lower body. Not that it would hide his arousal from watching her dress, but Sam had a feeling he didn’t want to be completely naked for the conversation she wanted to have.

“I can’t believe he turned out to be some psycho stalker,” she continued, slipping into bed beside Sam and angling her body so she was on her side, facing him. Her face was contorted in a combination of revulsion and sarcasm. “Ain’t I lucky?”

“You didn’t know.” Sam trailed a finger down the side of her cheek and wound her hair around it.

Though Emma accepted his caresses, she snorted softly like she didn’t quite believe she was the innocent party. “So what’s going to happen now? Are the cops going to find out about Eric and haul me in for questioning?”

“Assuming someone fills out a missing person report, it’s likely that they’ll want to talk to you.”

“And the university will, once they figure out he’s not showing up for his classes and not answering his phone.” She looked worried, which was the last thing Sam wanted her to be.

“If you’re wondering if you’re going to get in trouble or if the cops’ll find Eric’s body, then don’t,” he said and reached out to brush Emma’s tousled hair out of her face. “Dean and I have done this long enough to know how to cover our tracks. We’d never leave anyone high and dry like that.” _Especially you._

“I have no doubt about that,” Emma admitted and offered him a small smile.

Sam saw through the attempt at being brave, especially since confusion and uncertainty swirled in her eyes. Lying on his side, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his naked chest. His fingers smoothed her hair against her back in a comforting motion. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered, “I know what you’re going through, with what you saw today. I know it’s freaking you out.”

He felt her rubbing her nose against his chest. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“And if it’s too much for you –”

“Whoa, hang on a minute.” Emma broke out of Sam’s embrace and sat up, eyeing him warily. “Don’t give me that ‘if it’s too much from you then I’ll just get out of your way’ speech.” She poked his chest with a finger as she spoke. “Because that won't fly with me, _cher_.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether to be amused or shocked by her sudden change in temperament. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that, Em. Most people who’d been through what you did would be freaked to hell.”

“And I am, so much so that I pounced on you the second we were alone.” She crossed her arms just under her breasts, the small movement his entire focus for a split second before he looked up at her face lined with intensity.

That wasn’t the reaction he had counted on, and his puzzlement must have been written all over his face because she suddenly bit her lip and looked down at her hands. “It’s a . . . thing I do.”

“What, being turned on by demonic events?”

“No,” she chuckled and slid back onto her side. “Get so caught up in the tension of the moment that I have to let it out somehow or I’ll explode.” As she spoke, her eyes trailed down his body, and Sam swore he felt it – like a physical caress. “Besides, you were all hot and sweaty with the wannabe wet t-shirt. What other choice did I have?”

Laughing, Sam rolled around until she was beneath him, her warmth encircling him. “So all it takes is a little action for you to . . . want a little action?”

Emma nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Basically.” Playing with his shaggy hair, she pulled him down for an eager, lingering kiss. His mouth slanted over hers and she responded to the touch of his tongue against her lips. The feel of her hands in his hair aroused him, along with the soft length of her pressed against him.

But just as he broke their kiss to explore further down her body – maybe get her shirt off her – Emma pushed at him. “Hang on, hot stuff. I need to know some things first.”

Groaning to himself, Sam rolled off her and onto his back. While he didn’t mind pillow talk, he felt the demands of his body overriding his better judgment. “What’s wrong?” he asked and wrapped an arm around her, dragging her on top of him so he could look at her.

“Sam, what did the demon mean about Dean’s . . . ‘crispy trek south’ I believe were the words he used? And the Devil’s Gate and Hell breaking out?” She cocked her head, obviously curious, as she met his gaze.

_Shit_. This wasn’t something Sam wanted to address at the moment. Not now, not as a part of pillow talk. Not ever, if it was up to him. Hadn’t he promised Dean not to say a word to anyone, even Emma? Even though he decided to find a way to get Dean out of his crossroads deal – regardless of what Dean said – Sam hadn’t thought about spilling the Winchester family secret to anyone else.

But a part of him knew that Emma would figure it out, sooner or later. He had seen her research skills in action; he knew she was probably capable of digging up just about anything she wanted to know about Dean and him, even though they were always careful to cover their tracks wherever they went. Her steady gaze, the patient curiosity in her eyes, spoke of genuine interest, too; not just conversation for the sake of post-sex talk. Emma was telling him that she was genuinely interested in their lives, maybe even to the point of helping them out.

Which explained why Sam thought it would be nice sharing his troubles with another. The only problem was, he was having a hard time looking her in the eye. This wasn’t something you mentioned casually to another person: Sam had always taken family issues very seriously. The fact that he was considering telling her was huge. He had never told Jessica about his family, not outside the fact that he had one, and look at what had happened. Pain, loss, and regret. Better to have her in the know – wasn’t that the best way to protect her?

If he was honest with himself, Sam _wanted_ to tell Emma. If she could mostly handle a demon attack and exorcism, maybe she could handle hearing about Dean’s deal.

Sam scooted Emma away from him and got out of bed, donning his boxers and jeans. The sounds of the bed sheets rustling indicated that she felt his restlessness. However, when he glanced behind him, all he saw was Emma under the bed clothes, resting against the headboard and patiently waiting for his response.

Walking to the window, Sam kept his back to her and sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

 

* * *

 

Emma held her breath and watched the muscles twitch and stiffen in Sam’s back as he appeared to fight for the words to speak. She felt as tight as a rubber band about to snap, but she’d asked the question. Surprisingly, Sam had decided to tell her.

“You know my parents are dead,” he said slowly after a long moment. “Within a year, Dean will be, too . . . unless I find a way to save him.”

“But Dean looks so . . . healthy.” She frowned.

Sam nodded but said nothing.

“So how is Dean going to die when he clearly doesn’t look sick or dying?”

“Because . . . because he . . . sold his soul for me, that’s why.”

Emma blinked with surprise. _What had happened to these brothers?_ she wondered. “What? I don’t . . . what?”

“I was dead, Emma. Someone stabbed me in the back. Literally. Sliced through my spinal cord because of a game a major demon player wanted us in. Because it wanted me to be the leader of a demon army.”

Emma’s mind swirled with this knowledge, that Sam was an unwilling partner in a game he may not have known anything about. However, the demon possession Eric had wanted Sam’s allegiance because it wanted to head up an army. Maybe it was one in the same. “But your brother, he brought you back . . . to life?”

“Yes.”

“Because he sold his soul.”

Sam nodded.

“Sam, you know this sounds – ”

“Insane?” He turned around and regarded her warily. The pain in his eyes was so obvious, Emma wanted to find a way to remove it.

“No, confusing,” she said and started to get up.

Sam held up a hand to stop her and turned his back to her once again. He didn’t want comfort; Emma didn’t know what to make of that. “I guess it would be if you didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Yeah, a little background knowledge would be a life-saver, _cher_.” She winced. “No pun intended.”

He turned around again and mustered a small smile. “You familiar with the Robert Johnson legend?”

“Where supposedly he made a deal with the Devil so he could be the greatest blues guitarist of all time?”

“That’s the one.”

It took her a full minute to comprehend the conclusion Sam was offering her. “Wait, you’re telling me that . . . deals like that are real?”

“And made at a crossroads.”

Emma stared at Sam with eyes wide. “Let me get this straight: you died, Dean made a deal, and now you’re alive. What did he make a deal with?”

Sam only stared at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. It seemed that he was willing her to make the connection so he wouldn’t have to speak the words outright. It took her a minute to figure out what he was trying to communicate.

“Oh God, it’s another demon, isn’t it?” She felt her heart sink into her feet at the mere thought of another demon out to ruin these hunters’ lives. Two men who had done nothing but try to keep each other safe and destroy evil.

Again, he nodded but said nothing.

At a loss for words, Emma sat there, and retreated into herself for a moment – attempting to understand the situation as Sam had related to her. She got the impression that he hadn’t told her everything, but that was okay. What he _had_ was enough of a start. However, Emma wondered why he decided to tell her the truth, instead of some bullshit lie so he could walk out of her life without a backwards look. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he looked just a little relieved to share this with someone outside the hunter circle.

After a few long moments of silence, she spoke. “Is there some way to . . . break this deal? I mean, is it ironclad?”

He shook his head, and his shoulders sagged with a heavy sadness. “I haven’t found anything. A friend and I . . . we’ve been looking everywhere, but so far? Nothing. If I can’t find anything to get him out of it . . .” Sam’s words trail away into silence. Emma could only guess what would happen to Dean if Sam failed to find a solution, and her heart ached for him. For them both.

Dean would probably die, and Sam would be alone.

Emma knew the pain of being without any family, and if anything, getting to know Sam and Dean Winchester had taught her that being a part of something – friends and a family of her own – would be the only way to get through life happily. And as much as she wanted that to be with Sam, part of her knew it could never work. Not when he had work to do. Not when he needed to save his brother. And if he failed, she was not sure she could catch him and keep him from the darkness she feared would wind its way around his heart. She knew that darkness, had felt it when her parents died.

Getting out of bed, Emma approached Sam, who still had his back turned to her, and wrapped her arms around his torso. “I know what it feels like, Sam, to be alone,” she said and dropped feather-light kisses on his skin. “And you will never be alone, not as long as you have me. Besides, maybe I can help you or something.”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?” Emma ignored the tinge of pain at the thought that she and Sam were only just _friends_.

Sam frowned, which made her wonder if he hadn’t thought the same thing. “I’d like to think we are,” he whispered.

“Okay then. Dean’s what’s important. Besides you staying alive, I mean.” Emma planted a soft kiss to his back.

“Emma.” Sam turned in her arms. She saw the sadness and despair in his hazel eyes and wished more than anything to put him at ease.

“I’ll be okay, Sam. It’s not like I’m on the demonic radar.”

“What are you talking about?”

“With everything that’s happened lately . . . I really want to help y’all out. You and Dean fought to help me, so it’s my turn.”

“You can’t be thinking about – ”

“Helping you?” she said. “You bet I am, _cher_. I’m not going to let my friends walk away empty-handed. You know I have crazy research skills; let me put them to some good use for a change.”

“I can’t ask you to give up your life for this, Emma. That’s not right.”

“Sam, I’m not giving up my life. If anything, y’all showed me another world worth exploring,” Emma protested. “Granted, it’s scary as hell and I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but wouldn’t it be better, knowing you have another person fighting in your corner? I’ll be the Mickey to your Rocky.”

Sam smirked. “So you’re the old man and I’m the hot hulking fighter?”

“When you put it that way,” she began but smiled. Pressing one palm against his chest so her other hand trailed to tease his skin hidden underneath his jeans, she whispered, “So did you mean it when you said you’d be here all night?”

A wicked twinkle replaced the melancholy as he started backing her towards the bed. “Yeah, I meant it. I want to make sure you’ll be okay, Emma. Dean’s not coming back until morning, so . . . we got all night.”

 

* * *

 

Sam roused from a sound slumber by the sound of the Impala’s horn honking impatiently. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he noted the pale streams of sunlight through the window and looked over at Emma sleeping soundly. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow, giving her an angelic appearance. A small, happy smile graced her lips, and the last thing Sam wanted to do was wake her up just to say goodbye.

Besides, they had done that the last time they’d made love. He felt it and acknowledged her silent promise of assistance, that she was not going to let him go without some kind of backup. Curling her hair around his fingertip, he leaned in an dropped a couple light kisses to her full lips before getting out of bed and grabbing his clothing. He rushed to put them on as quietly as he could. Grabbing his duffel and casting a final look back at Emma’s sleeping form, Sam took a moment to memorize that picture, because he wasn’t sure when – or _if_ – he’d see her again.

Forcing himself to look away, Sam turned and walked down the hallway, duffel bag in hand, and wrote down his cell number and email address. Seemed only fitting, since he’d obtained her contact information from the research they had conducted together only days before. Another honk of the Impala’s horn told Sam that his brother was probably half asleep and cranky as hell. Time to go get the dude breakfast and a double espresso.

Sam left Emma’s home, shut the door silently, and bounded down the steps. He felt a glimmer of hope in his future: besides Bobby, he had additional help in finding a way for Dean to get out of his asinine deal. And in the process, he’d managed to make a friend. One whose memory would linger in his mind for quite awhile to come.

“Geez, Sam, about time you showed up,” Dean complained as Sam got into the passenger side and chucked his duffel into the backseat. “I was beginning to wonder if you and Emma would ever resurface from your night of hot, steamy sex.”

Sam made a face and glanced up at Emma’s home. While he wished his brother could shut the hell up, he couldn’t bring himself to speak while the Impala backed up and headed for the highway. He didn’t want to break the moment of watching her complex fade into the distance.

“You’re not going to have one of those ‘When Harry Met Sally’ chick flick moments, are you?” Dean snapped when Sam didn’t say anything.

He shook his head and turned to focus on the road ahead of them, though he shot Dean an eyeroll. “How about we hit a coffee shop someplace and get some caffeine in you, because you’re about as happy this morning as a ‘gator.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Dean replied and pushed on the gas, propelling the Impala and its inhabitants west along Highway 90. Dean turned on the radio and popped in Metallica’s _[Nothing Else Matters](https://youtu.be/tAGnKpE4NCI)_.

Sam glanced at his brother and cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to keep it light, Sammy,” Dean said and smirked.

With an eyeroll and a heavy sigh, Sam tried to settle back in his seat, but focusing on what laid ahead was difficult, considering Emma’s taste still lingered on his lips. “Seriously, dude. Turn it. Emma and I are just friends.” He listened to Dean mutter something under his breath but moments later heard the opening strains of [_Some Kind of Monster_](https://youtu.be/qUezq1TF4jk). Thank goodness: Sam wasn’t about to tell Dean anything about his time with Emma.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Sam opened his eyes and pulled it out, already knowing who it was from. _You better keep in touch after a goodbye like that_ , it read.

_I will. I promise_ , he texted Emma back and pocketed his cell once more. Wherever they were headed, Sam was determined not to let their friendship stagnate by losing contact with her.

Somehow, it seemed way too important to ignore.


End file.
